


I'm Wide Awake (I'm Not Sleeping)

by Aenaria



Series: I am Here, and I am Ready [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dream Sharing, F/M, Tags May Change, also our two leads may have finally got their act together, as I seem to have forgotten how to tag properly before coffee, but from a different perspective, but only behind the scenes, in which we cover the events of the movie, just giving you fair warning now, oh and the potential for smut at some point in the story, so it's slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy likes to think that she can handle anything that’s thrown at her, from Norse god-like aliens falling out of the skies to sharing some cozy and intimate dreams with a living legend.  She’s cool like that.  The next few days are going to be a true test of her skills, however (a.k.a. how Darcy Lewis spent her time in New York while Steve was off with the Avengers saving the world from Loki and his army).  The inevitable movie fic for the Dreams!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Tah-daaaaaah! Presenting the sequel to ‘Come Into My Life (Regress Into a Dream). It’s still a work in progress, but in general this story is going to start right when the first one ends (so you should probably be familiar with that story first, otherwise things are going to seem a bit weird) and cover the events of the Avengers movie, mostly from Darcy’s viewpoint. We already know most of what happens with Steve, that’s not changing from the movies. Darcy’s tale is going a bit more AU than what happened in the tie-in comics. Another slight movie canon divergence that should be remembered is that here the identity of the man behind Captain America is still a well-kept secret. That may change in the future, but for right now it’ll stay as is.
> 
> My wholehearted thanks to my betas and my cheering crew, who have both held my hands and slapped me upside the head when I needed it: kittywings01, scrammbledmegs, Meri, Rainne, Katy, Jess, and all of the people on tumblr who put up with my whining posts. Speaking of which, my tumblr can be found at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com if anyone wants sneak previews (or, at the very least, inspirational pictures. I’m really good at reblogging those).
> 
> All right, on with the show. I feel like I’ve waited long enough. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!

“You shoulda left it in the ocean.”

 

Steve barely makes it out into the hallway before he drops the heavy bag and his duffel to the floor and slumps against the wall.  Of all the things from the past to rear its ugly head in this new century of his, it had to be that goddamned cube.

 

How could one little item that could literally fit in the palm of his hand cause so much grief for so many people?  The power contained in that cube was beyond anything Steve had ever seen in his entire life.  Even Howard Stark, the smartest man in the room, couldn’t fully grasp its capabilities.

 

So why the hell did he turn it over to the SSR - to S.H.I.E.L.D. - to keep experimenting on?  Steve gets wanting to understand everything the cube could do, wanting to know that little bit of magic technology inside and out until no secrets were left.  Wanting to know just what was so enticing about the power contained within that the Red Skull was willing to burn the world to the ground to get it.  He can understand that curiosity.  But that S.H.I.E.L.D. had it and then lost it?  No, not lost.   Stolen by an alien with a destructive streak who would like nothing better than to rule the earth with an iron fist.

 

Yeah, that worked great when every other megalomaniac tried it, too.

 

Steve’s fist lashes out, leaving a nasty dent in the plaster wall next to him, dust and paint chips clinging to his knuckles.  “Dammit, Howard,” he mutters, shaking out his hand.  It doesn’t hurt, not really, but he’s almost wondering if he’s trying to shake out his anger that way also.  Frankly, it’s not working at all.  He can still feel his blood pounding through his veins with anger and grief.

 

Because even as the future is looking more and more promising, there’s a large part of him that still mourns for the past.  And he's not sure if he'll ever be able to shake that. His world changed in the merest blink of an eye, moving on without him and leaving him stranded in this strange new place. Darcy would probably tell him that everything happens for a reason, but if this damn cube is the reason why he's here he'd like to send it back and request a new purpose please. 

 

Darcy. 

 

Damn, he's most likely going to have to cancel their breakfast now. One of the few good things he has here in the future, and he's going to have to put it aside to find the cube instead. He feels his fist clenching again, but Steve manages to hold himself back this time. 

 

Barely. 

 

He'll make it up to her. Maybe she's a flowers sort of girl, even though he's never seen her gush over a bouquet in the time he's known her.  He’d have better luck wooing her with coffee, now that he thinks about it.  Or food.  Alcohol could be good.  Still, he’s suddenly dreading having to tell Darcy that he’s heading off to war again.

 

Steve stops that train of thought dead in its tracks when Fury walks around the corner.  He shoves his hands in his sweatpants’ pockets hastily, even though the tell tale dent in the wall next to him will say more than enough to the head of an international spy organization.  “One last word of advice, Captain,” Fury says, coming to a stop in front of him.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“You should ask your girlfriend about Loki before you come in.”

 

Steve stills, worry dropping over him like a cloak as the thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been spying on  them runs through his head.  They don’t have that much to hide, not really.  But the dreams are meant to be theirs and theirs alone; sharing them with Fury and his ilk is the last thing he wants to do.  “Excuse me?”

 

“Don’t play stupid, Cap.  It doesn’t suit you,” Fury says, folding his arms over his chest.  It’s not exactly intimidating, but it does make him stand up just a little bit straighter.  “But you should ask her about Loki.  She was there in the middle of it all the first time the Asgardians came to town.”

 

Steve bends down to pick up the duffel and the heavy bag.  “I’ll take it under advisement,” he says as he leaves.

 

Sure enough, the detailed dossier is there sitting on the floor when he gets home, like someone must have shoved it through the small gap under the door.  And as he reads through the file, soaking in all of the information as quickly as possible, he finds his hand inching over to his phone, fingers hovering over the buttons to dial Darcy’s number.

 

Loki’s not going to be easy to defeat, Steve’s realizing quickly.  They’re going to need all the help they can get.

\----------

A/n: < insert Avengers theme here >

 


	2. Where Have All the Good Men Gone and Where are All the Gods?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get ready for battle, and Steve's not going in unprepared. There's only one person he knows who has any experience with Loki, after all.

‘I have got to change that ringtone,’ Darcy thinks as the sudden burst of music jerks her out of sleep.  There’s a warm pulse in her belly when she realizes who is most likely calling her.

 

‘So much for waiting until morning.’   She giggles to herself as she reaches for the phone.  It’s still pitch black in her bedroom, and the phone only really provides a small square of light.  The screen also confirms that it’s definitely Steve calling her, and a slow-like-molasses warmth spreads from her stomach to her bones.  “I thought we were at least waiting until breakfast to talk,” Darcy says, not even bothering with the pleasantries.  She hopes he can hear the smile in her voice.

 

“I wish I could,” Steve says, and the sudden sharpness in his tone makes Darcy sit upright in bed.

 

“What’s up?” she asks.

 

“Not over the phone.  Can you come over right now?”

 

Darcy’s already halfway out of bed, scrambling around to find a pair of leggings to tug on under her nightie.  “Of course.  I’ll be there in three.”  She grabs an oversized cardigan, shoves her phone into the pocket and her feet into flip-flops.  Darcy doesn’t bother with the bra; he’s seen her in far less, and there’s a feeling of urgency gnawing at her that won’t go away until she sees Steve’s face and knows for sure he’s all right.

 

She slips down the stairs and steals across the alleyway.  Steve buzzes her through the main door and she all but runs up the stairs, nowhere near patient enough to wait for an elevator.

 

Steve’s already got the door to the apartment open by the time she gets there, and is leaning against the frame, head bowed and arms crossed over his chest.  His hair’s in disarray and he’s still in his gym clothes.  She moves closer before she speaks, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbors...and because she still can’t shake that feeling of very, very wrong from her body.  But before Darcy can even open her mouth Steve sweeps her into a quick, tight hug that almost knocks the breath right out of her.  “What’s going on?” she asks when he pulls back to guide her through the doorway and deadbolt it behind them.

 

“I had an interesting conversation with Nick Fury tonight,” Steve says, showing her over to the couch.  He doesn’t join her there, however, instead pacing back and forth on the other side of the coffee table.  He’s wound up as tight as a spring, Darcy thinks, twisting her hands in her lap.  Like each step is winding the coil tighter and tighter until something snaps.

 

“Who?”

 

“The director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

It’s only then that Darcy notices the file sitting prominently on the coffee table with the stylized eagle of S.H.I.E.L.D. boldly on the cover.  For the briefest, flashing moment she thinks that they’ve somehow found out about the shared dreams, and will cart them off to...wherever they keep people with secret powers hidden away so they can experiment on them.  Well, on her at least.  Captain America’s probably too valuable to be hidden away, secret powers or not.  Her breathing catches, and she can’t quite drag in a full lung’s worth of air.

 

But Steve sits down on the table in front of her, taking one of her hands in his.  “Commander Fury was the one who suggested I talk to you about this.”

 

Darcy’s head jolts up, shooting Steve a very confused look.  “Me?  Why me?  And how does he even know who I am?”

 

Steve pulls the file around, setting it down on his lap.  “Fury knows you were at ground zero in New Mexico when the Asgardians came to Earth the first time.”  He taps a finger quickly on the folder, the dull noise sounding especially loud in the night’s stillness.

 

“Oh.  Yeah, that makes sense.  And according to Thor it wasn’t the first time.  But I still don’t know what Fury wants to know about that’s not in the file.”

 

Steve’s fingers are practically bone white where they press into the file now.  “Yesterday morning,” he says, “a man who introduced himself as Loki of Asgard broke into a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility and stole the Tesseract from them.”

 

Any warmth that Darcy was feeling before is now gone, leeched away into nothing by this sudden news.  “Loki.  Thor’s batshit crazy brother?”  Steve nods.  “Stole the same Tesseract that went down into the ocean with  you?”  She remembers Steve’s story all too well - Captain America’s final ride has become modern legend by this point, a pop culture staple, even though the part about the Tesseract never made it into the canon.  That’s something that Steve told her himself, when he unloaded his entire story on her in those first few weeks in this brand new century, and it’s something the government and S.H.I.E.L.D. have most likely tried damn hard to keep as much under wraps as possible.

 

Until now.

 

He nods again, clutching at the file like it’s a lifeline.  “And Fury wants me on the team that hunts him down.  Which is why I’m asking you what you know about Loki, because I need as much information as possible to fight him.”

 

Darcy sits back against the couch, nibbling on her thumbnail.  She’s never been a nail biter, but if there’s ever a good time to start that stressful habit it’s now.  “I never actually saw Loki,” she says.  “I met Thor, obviously, and a handful of other Asgardians, but Loki never set foot in town.”

 

“But he tried to attack the town where you were, right?” Steve presses, leaning forward just slightly.  

 

“Yeah, with the Destroyer.”  Darcy looks up at Steve, her other arm crossing her stomach and pulling her cardigan as tightly as possible around her.  “You saw that one in my nightmares.”

 

His hand goes out to cup her knee, warm even through the fabric of her leggings.  It’s a small comfort, but it helps.  “Yeah, big metal machine that spat fire.”

 

“Pretty much.  But the damn thing was near unstoppable.  It wasn’t until Thor got his powers and his hammer back that he was able to actually stop it.”  Darcy takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand tightly.  “And those powers that Thor has?  Those are so far beyond anything we’ve got here on Earth, even greater than a super soldier.  So unless you’ve got a really big fucking gun you better hope like hell the Destroyer doesn’t show up.”

 

Steve nods, glancing down at the file briefly and then back up at her.  “What about Loki’s abilities?  Does he have the same sort of skills as Thor?”

 

“Um…”  Darcy wracks her brain, trying to remember everything Thor had said in their brief acquaintance about Loki - and to focus on actual Loki, not the interpretations from whatever legends and mythology books she read after the initial incident.  “He’s a trickster; he’s cunning.  I don’t think he has the brute strength of Thor, but he’s a sneaky bastard.  And he has magic.”

 

“Magic?”

 

“After everything we’ve been through, you’re having trouble believing in magic?” she fires back.

 

“No, I’m believing it,” he says.  “I’m just trying to figure out what type of magic it is he’s got.”

 

Darcy shrugs, wishing she could curl into her cardigan and not come out.  “Beats me.  Thor wasn’t exactly forthcoming about that.  He’s kind of got the strong, silent thing going on.  Though I’d bet he spoke more to Jane about it than me.”

 

At the sound of Jane’s name Steve flips open the file and skips a few pages forward.  “Actually, it looks like Jane’s being taken overseas to a S.H.I.E.L.D. observatory for her own protection, under the guise of a sudden research project, or something like that.”

 

“But she’ll be safe though, right?  Because if Loki’s trying to piss off Thor again, Jane’s the perfect way to do that.”

 

“She’ll be guarded the entire time,” Steve says, looking down at the papers again.

 

Darcy nods.  “Good.”

 

“Anything else?” Steve asks, flipping his hand over and lacing his fingers through hers.

 

She thinks hard, trying to recall everything she went through in those days and everything that Jane had told her afterwards.  “Just...don’t trust him.  In Norse mythology he was called ‘silver-tongue’, because he could say lots of pretty things that are exactly what you want to hear.  Don’t buy into it.”

 

“Okay.”  Steve pushes himself off of the table, hand slipping out of hers as he moves to the window.  He’s silent for a few moments, one arm resting on the frame as he stares out into the night.  There’s a tenseness in his shoulders that Darcy doesn’t like the look of, like the weight of memories there is getting too heavy and eventually it’s just going to crush him.

 

Well, that just won’t do.

 

Darcy pushes herself off of the couch and pads over to Steve, her hand landing soft on his back.  “How are you holding up with all of this?” she asks quietly.

 

He shakes his head, eyes still gazing off in the distance.  “I thought I was done with this,” he eventually says.  “Not with the fighting, I’m trained for that, it’s what I know.  But that  fucking cube ,” he spits out.  “How many lives have been lost because of it?  And how many more people are gonna die by the time this is over with?”

 

And the life you lost, too.  The statement’s unspoken but Darcy can hear it echo in the quiet spaces between words.  The weight of a life lost and all of the what-could-have-beens is extremely heavy, and recovery from such a trauma is always a process, she knows.  She’s not quite sure how to respond with her own words, however, so instead she leans her forehead against his shoulder and wraps her arm around his waist.  He sags against her, just slightly, enough that it’s all too easy to feel the heat from his skin against his clothes.  “Well, there’s only one thing to do about it,” Darcy finally says.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Kick Loki’s ass all the way back to Asgard.”

 

Steve barks out a laugh, his arm falling around her shoulders and pulling her in close.  He bends down enough to press his forehead to hers, and Darcy’s eyes close, just briefly.  His hand lands on her neck, thumb stroking carefully, and she’d swear he’s about to kiss her until he speaks again.  “The last time I went off to war and kissed a girl good-bye, I woke up in a different century.  I don’t want that to happen again,” he whispers.

 

Darcy tilts her head up slightly, just enough so that she can nudge her nose against his.  It’s not a kiss, not even close, but the sentiment is just as good.  “That just means you have something to look forward to when you get home,” she replies.

 

“I like the sound of that,” Steve says, then sighs heavily, enough that she can feel it warm against the skin of her neck.  “I need to go make a phone call so I can arrange for a pick-up in the morning.”

 

“Go, take care of it.”  Darcy rubs her hand up and down his back quickly, feeling the tight muscles there.  “And I’ll go make some coffee.  I get the feeling neither one of us is going to be sleeping all that much in the next few days.”

 

She heads into the kitchen, setting up the coffee to brew.  The frivolous thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. was kind enough to teach him how to use a modern coffee machine passes through her brain as she watches the glass carafe fill up.  From the other room the muffled sounds of Steve’s conversation reach her ears, but she can’t make out the words.  To be perfectly honest, she doesn’t need to hear the words; she knows exactly what he’s saying.  

 

A small part of her wants to rush in there, pull the phone right out of his hands, and toss it out the window.  She’ll tell him not to go off and fight, to stay here with her because he’s earned his rest by now and it’s time for others to take up the battle.  But a larger part of Darcy, the one that knows Steve even better than she’d like to admit, realizes that he needs this.  He needs a mission, needs to fight, because that’s just who he is.  He’s always been the person to stand up for the little guy, to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders when others can’t.  That’s not a Captain America trait either, that’s all Steve Rogers.  

 

To be frank, she wouldn’t want him any other way.  

 

Darcy pours the coffee out into some mugs, and carefully carries them back into the living room.  Steve’s off the phone by now, leaning against his desk and staring hard at his clenched fist.  “All set?” she asks, putting the mugs down on the table and settling back down on the couch.

 

He nods.  “Yeah, they’ll be here at 6:30 to come get me.”  His gaze drops down to his fist again, and Darcy wonders what exactly is so fascinating about it.  Yes, he’s got nice hands, but she highly doubts that’s what’s going through his mind.  Steve moves back over to the couch and sits down next to her, close enough that their legs are touching.  “I want to give you this before I head out,” he says, unfolding his palm to reveal a set of keys.  “They’re the keys to the apartment.  I don’t know how long this mission is going to take, so just in case...yeah.”

 

Darcy takes the keys, gripping them tightly in her hand.  There are lots of words running through her head at the sight of them, but her traitorous brain eventually settles on, “I’ll bring your mail in then.”

 

Steve huffs lightly, running a hand over the back of his neck.  “That’ll be all three pieces I get a month, then.”

 

“Someone’s got to keep an eye on it,” she fires back, sending a wink in his direction.  “Now come on,” she says, trading the keys for the remote to the television that Steve rarely, if ever, uses.  “They’re not going to be here for a few hours yet, so I think we should veg out and try not to think until then.”

 

They spend that time splayed out on the couch, Steve’s head pillowed on Darcy’s lap, her hand running occasionally through his hair as reruns of Law and Order play out on the screen in front of them.  Darcy thinks she dozes off for a few minutes here and there, but her body’s still aware, ready to jump at the slightest movement.  Steve is still tense against her, and she imagines that his mind is playing out all of the potential situations that he could run up against in the upcoming days.

 

(Whatever he imagines, it’s nothing at all compared to what reality is ready to throw at him.)

 

At 6 a.m. Steve pushes himself upright and disappears into the bedroom.  When he returns he’s showered, changed out of the gym clothes, and his jacket is already over his shoulders.  He looks ready to go, Darcy thinks, even though she suspects that the nerves are starting to kick in.  He sits back down next to her and pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly until there’s a sharp rap on the door a few minutes later.

 

“You ready to rock?” she asks, pressing her forehead against his shoulder one last time.

 

Steve takes a deep breath.  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”  He kisses her forehead firmly, lingering there for a moment.  “You stay safe for me?”

 

“Always.”  Darcy nods, then pulls herself away to clap her hands on his shoulders.  “Go kick ass, take names, and come home in one piece.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

With that Steve heads for the door, leaving Darcy to slump down on the couch.  She’s not embarrassed to be caught there, not by far, but she’s got the sneaking suspicion that the fewer S.H.I.E.L.D. people who know she’s there, the better.  She hears the door open and another person introduce themselves.  “Captain Rogers?  I’m Agent Coulson.  Commander Fury sent me to escort you to the Helicarrier…”

 

Darcy waits for a few more minutes after Steve and the agent who stole her precious iPod have gone, trying her hardest not to think about what’s waiting for both of them out in the world today.  It’s going to be difficult, she thinks, knowing that this impending doom is out there but without any idea when or where he’s going to strike.  But she’s got to at least act normal.  If she starts screaming that the sky is falling her roommates will cart her off to the looney bin and then she’ll really be screwed.  Eventually she’s focused enough to head back to her place, locking up Steve’s behind her and padding silently across the alley.

 

‘Normal,’ she reminds herself.  ‘For right now, act like nothing’s going on.’

 

An hour later a call comes in from her agency, asking Darcy if she can work a one-day gig at a financial company downtown.  The pay’s crap, but she needs the distraction desperately.  So she agrees to the job and heads for the shower, pushing all thoughts of Loki into the little lock box in her mind for the moment.


	3. None of Them Along the Line Know What Any of it is Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of what happens in Stuttgart hits the airwaves, though no one knows quite what to make of it just yet. Darcy's proud of the fact that she hasn't had a breakdown from worrying over Steve yet, but her dreams don't exactly help with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to this posting speed - the muse kicked up a fuss this weekend and got the chapter out quicker than I thought. She's a fickle creature though. Thanks to Meri for cheerleading, Rainne for the awesome beta, and kittywings01 for suggesting something that gave us some extra Steve in this chapter too. On with the show...

On her way home from work that evening, Darcy commits the cardinal sin of falling asleep on the subway.  Hey, a free seat opened up right in front of her, and she’s not above taking advantage of it.  But after a nearly sleepless night, as soon as she leans her head against the metal railing next to her she dozes off.  It’s a light doze, her body’s still eminently aware of its location and she maintains her death grip on her purse, but it’s enough to send her mind off into a state where glimpses of dreams sneak through.

 

_It’s not the first time Darcy’s dreamed about being lost in a dark wood, however it is the first time that the forest looks like it’s had a bomb dropped on it.  The trees have been blown back, clearly visible even in the dim light from the moon, their trunks cracked and and split, bark peeling off in ragged hanks._

_But that’s not the really interesting part.  The interesting part is that on one side of her stands Thor, hair in disarray and looking a bit worse for the wear.  On the other side is Iron Man, though his suit is dented like it’s been hit multiple times by that hammer Thor’s holding._

_“Are we done here?” Darcy hears a voice say.  She’s certain it’s Steve, though the words feel like they’re coming directly from her mouth instead of his._

 

Darcy misses the answer because she’s pulled out of sleep rapidly by the dinging of the subway doors.  She looks up at the little glowing track above her head and groans loudly.  Of course she slept right through her stop.

 

By the time Darcy turns around and makes her way back to her proper stop, only the thought of her bed is what keeps her moving forward, out of the subway station and towards home.  Between the lack of sleep the night before, and the next eight hours buried in data entry hell,  where only copious amounts of caffeine could keep her focused and on task, she’s ready to call it a night, put on pajamas, and curl up in bed with Netflix.

 

It wasn’t a bad distraction though, to be fair.  She worried less than she thought she would have throughout the day, which wasn’t at all a bad thing.  And if this is her reaction during just the first mission, how’s she going to react on the fifth mission?  How about the fiftieth?  She’s not sure if she’ll ever get used to it, but the one thing she’s damn sure of is that she’ll support Steve no matter what he decides to do.

 

‘Boy’s got skills,’ Darcy reminds herself as she hauls her tired ass up the darkened stairway to the apartment.  They really need to fix the damn light bulbs in this place, she thinks with a grimace.  Her hands are cramped, her neck aches from her awkward position snoozing against the subway railing, and her eyes are burning from staring at a computer screen filled with tiny numbers for hours on end, and she can’t wait to just collapse for a few hours.  Still, it keeps her mind off of things.

 

Good.  It’s better not to think right now anyway.  

 

But as soon as Darcy walks through the front door she can hear the buzz of the big television in the living room, and a clamor of voices rising up around it.  She’s determined to ignore it, to go straight past the anticipated crowd so she can faceplant on her bed.  The odd look on Jess’ face ends up drawing her into the room, however.  She sidles up to where Jess is leaning over the back of the couch, which is filled with Barrett and two of his friends from somewhere else.  Mina’s perched on the arm, and her eerily similar looking boyfriend is standing next to her, looking a little more pensive than his normal dour self.  There’s another couple of girls on cushions on the floor - they could possibly be some of Jess’ models, but given the nature of the art studio below there’s every chance they could have wandered up here after pottery class (with actual pot) was over.  Or something like that.  Darcy isn’t exactly sure where all these people come from.  “What’s going on?” she asks, turning her stare over to Jess, who is still intent on the TV.

 

Jess fish-mouths a bit, looking back and forth between Darcy and the TV screen.  “I...I’m not exactly sure,” she says.  “Just watch.”

 

There’s currently a commercial on the screen, but in a few more seconds an actual news report comes back on, the broadcaster looking suitably serious yet slightly puzzled as well.  “Returning to the latest news out of Germany, officials are still trying to determine the exact nature of the attack in Stuttgart earlier this evening.  Let’s go over to our correspondent on the scene.  Alex, are you there?”

 

The TV screen splits, the Washington D.C. newsroom on one side and an on the scene shot in Stuttgart on the other, complete with a reporter in a practical, waterproof jacket.  “Thanks, Holly.  What we know so far is this: there was a blatant attack on one of the board members of the local symphony in the middle of a fundraising gala at the Stuttgart Museum by a lone man, leaving the board member dead.  The attacker then somehow was able to herd the attendees out to the plaza where he seemed to be about to cause further harm, but was stopped by a couple of newcomers to the scene.  One of these newcomers is a familiar sight these days - Tony Stark’s Iron Man, but as for the other?  Well, let’s pull up the eyewitness video shot during the attack again.”

 

The reporter disappears, quickly replaced by a grainy cell phone video.  The film is blurry, zoomed in to catch as much as the action as possible.  But even with the bad quality it’s still clear to make out the men there having what amounts to an all out brawl in the middle of the plaza.  One man is dressed in a long robe, wearing a helmet with horns on his head, and carrying a staff that doubles as a handy weapon.  The sight of him alone makes Darcy’s stomach drop like a rock and hit the floor, but it’s the second man that makes her breath catch in her throat.

 

That red, white, and blue outfit could only be one person.  Even though she’s never seen Steve in action before (the punching bag totally doesn’t count), there’s a fluidity to his movements that she recognizes.  It’s in the way he arches his back and the way he rolls out of the way to dodge a hit from Loki.  And it could only be Loki that he’s fighting; that outfit looks an awful lot like the ones she remembered the Asgardians wearing.  

 

“So, we’ve got a guy who looks like he escaped from a Renaissance fair,” Mina begins, staring hard at the screen.

 

“Fighting a guy in what looks like a cut-rate Captain America uniform,” Jess finishes.  

 

“Don’t forget the part about the jet,” one of Barrett’s friends chimes in.

 

“Jet?” Darcy asks, head whipping back and forth between everyone in the room, because all of a sudden it seems like everyone has an opinion that needs to be voiced.

 

“I still don’t get why they thought it was a good idea to put someone in the same costume as a guy who died back in World War Two.”  

 

“And it really seems overly patriotic, doesn’t it?”

 

“A little tacky, really.”

 

“Nice ass, though.”

 

“Of course that’s what you focus on.”

 

“Oh, and the part about the magic.”

 

“It’s not magic, just advanced holograms.  You know, like they did with Tupac for that concert.”

 

“Man, the conspiracy blogs are having a field day over this one.  This one here says that they have documentation proving that they cloned the original Captain America.”

 

“I thought there were three different Captain Americas anyway; how do they know which is the original?”

 

Darcy shakes her head and turns to Jess, pulling her slightly away from the chatter just so she can hear clearly.  “Jet?” she asks again.

 

Jess cocks her head in the direction of the television.  “Right after Iron Man got there a big ol’ military jet lands in the middle of the street and they hustle the crazy guy onto there.”  She sighs, and crosses her arms over her chest.  “When the hell did we start living in a comic book?  I thought Iron Man and the world’s greatest flaming STD were too much, but this?”

 

“The world is a very strange place,” Darcy says.  She declines to mention the fact that Captain America himself fell asleep on the couch just a few feet away from them more than once, drooling into the upholstery in a very un-superhero-like fashion.

 

“Seriously.”

 

Darcy glances back at the screen where another commentator has come on, chiming in with his opinion about the video and events in Stuttgart.  “If this man actually is a member of the US Armed Forces, or at the very least government sponsored, then we need to look deeper into the symbolism of reviving such an iconic uniform…”  She tunes out the rest of the speech and turns back to Jess, not really caring about whatever speculation the media’s going to come forth with.

 

“Come on,” Darcy says.  “It’s my turn to make dinner tonight, I think, and I could use some help in the kitchen.”  Once in the kitchen Jess pulls a couple of boxes of pasta out of the cabinets while Darcy pokes her head into the freezer, attempting to find some sort of protein that can fill out the rest of the meal.

 

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” Jess asks.

 

Darcy huffs loudly, shifting around some boxes of frozen vegetables to get to the one bag of shrimp they’ve got left in there.  It’ll do.  “No, the job’s over with, but some idiot at the agency lost my damn background check paperwork, without which I won’t get my money.”  She slams the freezer door shut with more force than is necessary and turns to Jess, who’s already cracking into a bottle of white wine.  “So guess who has to haul her sorry ass to Midtown tomorrow to waste two hours filling out pointless paperwork in the world’s most uncomfortable chairs?”

 

Jess looks down at the wine glass, then picks it up and hands it over to Darcy.  “I think you need this more than I do.”

 

“You’re a good soul,” Darcy says, taking the glass and knocking half of it back in one gulp.  

 

\----------

 

Steve’s jaw is clenched as he walks through the halls of the Helicarrier.  He knows that they’re missing something important, something that would help explain what exactly Loki’s plan is - and whatever Fury’s hiding.  As much as it pains Steve to admit it, Stark is right - Fury’s got secrets on top of secrets.  But hacking into the computer system isn’t the only way to discover what he’s hiding.  

 

And Steve is more than willing to bend Fury’s orders a bit in order to get some concrete answers.  If they think he’s all about following orders, well, then he’s not about to disabuse them of the notion.  Especially if it means he won’t get caught on this little side mission.  Though, admittedly, Steve’s so far out of his depth at the moment that all that he feels like he can do is follow orders until he’s got his feet under him once more.  Gotta crawl before you can walk, after all.

 

On his way down to one of the storage units of the Helicarrier, Steve spots Natasha, standing in front of a bank of monitors and staring hard at the screens.  Each screen features Loki at a different angle, perched on a stool and glaring at nothing.  “He say anything?” Steve asks as he draws up behind her.

 

Natasha shakes her head.  “No.  But I’m going to start the interrogation shortly.  I’ll pull something out of him.”

 

Steve stares hard at the screen, his mind flashing back to some of the things Darcy had mentioned before he left.  God, was it really only that morning?  It can’t even be more than a day, though with the way they’ve been crossing time zones he’s not sure of the exact time.  It feels like it’s been weeks, however, since he left his apartment.  He wouldn’t mind a bit of a nap, either, but that doesn’t look likely.  The serum will keep him up and running until it’s time to crash.  “Silver-tongue,” he mutters, almost to himself.

 

Natasha’s eyes flick away from the screen to glance over at him.  “Hmm?”

 

“In Norse mythology, they called him Silver-tongue.  A trickster.  He’ll try to put one over on you to get his way.  Don’t buy into it.”

 

Her hands tighten almost imperceptibly on her hips, and she looks at the screens once more  “Good to know,” she says.  “I think I’ll have to adjust my initial plan, but I’ve got something that should work even better now.  Thanks for the advice, Captain.”

 

Steve nods.  “Good luck.”  He leaves Natasha to her interrogation and proceeds down the corridor, wondering yet again how strange his life has been lately.

 

\----------

 

Of course Darcy dreams again that night.  After all, dreams can’t be controlled; they don’t come when called like a dog.  They have a mind of their own, if you’ll pardon the pun.

 

_There’s wind rushing all around her, and she’s surrounded by metal grates and pipes.  A glance to one side shows flashing electronics, a mass of blinking wires that make about as much sense as Sanskrit does.  On the other side there’s a wide expanse of sky surrounded by grey and black metal, a couple of scudding clouds passing by in an oddly calm counterpoint to the pounding of her heart.  Her blood’s rushing in her ears.  Or maybe that’s the wind.  Darcy’s got absolutely no certainty whatsoever at the moment._

_Nearby there’s an explosion, or possibly gunfire.  Maybe it’s coming from her, because she thinks she’s holding a gun in her hands, although it’s bigger and uglier than she’s ever seen before.  However, Darcy’s experience with weaponry of any sort is pretty much none, so she can’t be sure.  What she is sure of is that all of a sudden her foot’s slipping on a grate and she’s being tossed through the air, the only thing keeping her from plummeting to the ground miles below is the quick grip she gets on a dangling cable._

_Darcy’s head spins, and the noise in her ears becomes even louder.  Her world narrows down to the grip on the cable, because even if a dream she’s not sure that if she lets go, falls back to Earth, she’ll be able to walk away from it.  The risk isn’t worth it.  She’s convinced that she hears someone talking nearby, but it sounds fuzzy thanks to the wind.  But her lips move, and she hears her voice - Steve’s voice - choke out “I need a minute here!”_

_She adjusts her grip on the cable, the thick red gloves holding on securely to the metal.  Finally, one hand moves over the other, pulling her up and back into the belly of the ship._

 

Darcy awakes with a sharp gasp, her hands flexing at her sides.  The only thing she can feel there, however, is the soft, slightly worn fabric of her blankets all around her.  But the bed is warm and solid, unmoving even though her head feels like it’s still spinning.  Once the rushing in her head has stopped she peels open her eyes.  The sun shining boldly through the skylight is higher than normal, and when she looks over at her phone the time it reads out is far later than she usually sleeps.  There’s still a lingering tiredness in her bones, a deep set ache that isn’t easily explained.  It’s all the dreams’ fault.

 

She grumbles under her breath, burying her face in the pillow.  ‘Five more minutes,’ she thinks.  Just a little more sleep.  Then she’ll go fill out that damn paperwork at the agency.

  
‘Yeah, this is going to be a fun day,’ Darcy tells herself, and even her internal voice sounds sarcastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Natasha probably already knows the information that Steve provides to her in regards to Loki’s mythological reputation - she seems like the sort of person to be extraordinarily prepared for every eventuality. But from every impression I have of Natasha, especially in light of The Winter Soldier, I feel like she’d act like the information is brand new to her to get a measure on Captain America’s character, to see just how he’s handling this new world and how he is perceiving everything.
> 
> Sneak previews, bitching about writing, and lots of inspirational pictures can be found on my blog if you're interested: aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. All the Nightmares Came Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chitauri descend upon Manhattan. Darcy has the misfortune of being stuck in the middle of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say in the notes section this time, except that this is the inevitable 'Aliens in Manhattan' chapter. Thanks to Rainne for the beta job, and to Meri for being her awesome self and listening to me babble on about things I couldn't figure out while writing.

Torture doesn’t have to be obvious, Darcy knows.  It doesn’t have to be thumbscrews, or the rack, or drawing and quartering.  Even tarring and feathering.  No, torture in its purest iteration comes on small, quiet footsteps in the guise of a background check form.  She grits her teeth and reaches for her phone again, trying to find out the street address for her high school because for some reason the background check wants to know that and there’s no way she can get out of it.  It’s especially painful because she knows she filled out this same, long-ass form just a few months before, but none of the old answers are coming to mind.  All of the addresses she’s lived over the last twenty years (which is most of her life), schooling, prior jobs (even those summer jobs that lasted all of a week because there was no way she could hack being a barista), and every other little thing about her because they want to make sure she’s not going to embezzle funds, or something like that.

 

This is the only time in her life she thinks that New Mexico being a classified incident is a good thing.

 

Eventually she finds the address for her high school (go Blue Devils!) and she painstakingly inserts the information in there.  Darcy’s already been there for an hour, and she’s degraded to punching in the information with one finger.  So very exciting.

 

When she’s in the middle of putting her college GPA into the system Darcy’s phone vibrates, jolting her up straight.  She sees Steve’s name come up on the display and she quickly engages the call, a great feeling of relief dropping over her.  If he’s calling, then he’s got to be okay.  “Hey, you!” she says, leaning back in the chair to try and find a comfortable position yet again.  “What’s up?”

 

“Are you at home?” Steve asks, blowing right past the pleasantries in a tone of voice that sends a bad shiver down Darcy’s back.

 

“No, I’m at the agency right now.  What’s wrong?”

 

“Where’s the agency?”

 

She doesn’t hesitate.  “41st and Park.  Why?”

 

“Shit,” she hears Steve hiss over the phone lines.  “Loki’s headed for Stark Tower,” he blurts out.

 

“Are you sure?” Darcy asks as she jumps out of her seat, heading over to the full wall of windows in the computer room.  The windows look right out onto Park, and the Viaduct and Pershing Square are right below, slightly to the left.  Everything looks normal, busy and buzzing as is usual in New York with tons of people milling around and taxicabs filling up the streets.

 

It doesn’t look like Loki’s hit yet, basically.  

 

But this is New York, Darcy knows, and if there’s one thing she’s learned since coming here is that dyed-in-the-wool New Yorkers never look up.  It means that no one will see her panicked face staring out the windows twelve stories up, and that they’ll never notice anything else that’s...up.  She glances up at Stark Tower, then up at the light clouds right above it.  Everything looks like it should, like perfectly normal sky, but something feels off.  Like any second now the sky’s going to burst apart, revealing something beyond imagining.  

 

Her thoughts peter to a dead halt as a burst of something sparkling erupts from one of the windows high up on the Tower, quickly followed by something that Darcy suspects is a body dropping like a rock out of it.  “Holy shit,” she breathes.

 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks.

 

“I think someone just got thrown out of a window,” she says, the sick feeling building in her stomach.  Her brain can’t quite process what she just saw, that any second now that person’s going to hit the ground with a wet splat from hundreds of feet up.  But she stops thinking and just watches when another object flies out after the body, rocketing down towards the ground.  A few seconds after that something shoots back up towards the window, sparks sputtering brightly around the feet.  “Huh.”

 

“What?”

 

“I think that the person that got tossed out the window was Tony Stark, but then the suit went after him, picked him up, and now he’s shooting back inside his building.”

 

“Damn it,” Steve says.  “You gotta get out of there.  Get underground, on the subway, and get the hell out of Manhattan as fast as you can.”

 

“You got it.”  Darcy all but runs back to her computer, yanks her charger out of the wall and starts shoving her stuff into her bag.  “You guys heading this way?” she asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder before going back to the window, taking another look at the madness in the sky and the unknowing streets below.  

 

“We’re on our way, ETA about five minutes.”

 

“Good.  Kick his ass in for me.”

 

“Will do.  Keep your eyes open and stay safe for me?  Please?”

 

“Always.  And you too, stay safe.  Call me when it’s over.”  Darcy hustles over to the elevators and jabs at the down button.  She taps her foot nervously; the damned contraption can’t come fast enough.

 

“You too.  I’ll see you soon.”  As soon as Steve hangs up the elevator arrives, and Darcy hops on.  It’s only another couple of minutes until she’s out on the street, and she starts quick walking for the nearest subway stop.  And even though the walking isn’t hard or strenuous, her heart’s pounding like she just finished a marathon.  She gives a wild glance at all of the people walking around her, and thinks they’ve got no idea of the shitstorm that’s about to descend.

 

Damn it.

 

And while she realizes it’s most likely going to be an act of futility, Darcy attempts to get at least some of the people passing by her on the street to follow her to safety.  She tries tugging at sleeves and calling out to people walking by, but more often than not they write her off as another crazy person asking for money or just screaming at thin air like the rest of the looneys.  One particularly unpleasant guy dismisses her with a wave of his hand, saying it’s just Stark fucking around with the Iron Man suit again.  Even her attempts to get people to look up in the sky, to see just what she’s seeing don’t seem to work, and she’s about ready to cry out in frustration.  

 

“Stupid people,” she mutters, hiking her bag up on her shoulder.  There’s an uncomfortable, unnatural rumble beneath her feet, which makes her quicken her steps.  But then, right as she swings the corner onto 42nd Street...then the clouds shift, and she looks up at Stark Tower to see the sky rip itself apart, electric blue ringing the deep black of the new hole there.

 

Finally the traffic’s stopped and people spill out of their cars, trying to get a better look at what’s going on above them.  Then the aliens - because that’s the only thing these lizard-like creatures could be, Darcy thinks - start swarming out of the hole and are heading straight towards them, getting closer and closer with every passing second.  

 

Yeah, fuck that noise.

 

Darcy runs towards the subway entrance that’s only a few yards away now, and she hustles down the escalator.  She’s not even sure which subway line she’s getting on, her only goal is to get the hell out of Midtown at that point.  Hell, hopefully the subway is still running, she thinks.  Just as she reaches the bottom of the escalator there’s an incredibly loud crash from above that lingers, the cracking noises taking a little while to die down.  

 

Darcy pauses at the foot, staring back up at the street entrance, trying to see what’s going on.  All she can see, however, is the building’s overhang and a slice of sky.  But it feels like the volume’s suddenly been turned up to eleven, and peoples’ voices are chattering all around now, asking what the hell’s just happened, what’s going on?  There’s screeching and screaming, but now’s not the time for her to help anymore.  She can only hope the professionals show up soon.

 

‘Good thing I wore sturdy boots today,’ Darcy thinks as she runs further into the station, searching for a staircase that will take her even further underground to a deeper train platform.  There’s another loud crash that comes from above before she makes it any more inside, accompanied by an even deeper reverberation that makes her lose her balance and fall over, hitting the hard floor with a graceless thud.

 

“Ow,” she whimpers, one hand going to her forehead where she’s sure she cut herself.  When she pulls her hand back there’s an ugly smear of blood on her palm, and she swears roughly.  Darcy tries to push herself to her feet, but there are a number of panicked people around her.  When she catches a foot in her kidneys she gives up on standing and curls into a little ball instead, just until they pass.  ‘I’m gonna die in the damn subway,’ she thinks, right before another foot impacts her shin.

 

Luckily this lasts for all of five seconds before she feels a pair of hands tight on her shoulders, hauling her brusquely to her feet.  Darcy looks up to see a black woman in an MTA uniform there, dust and debris in the braids coiled atop her head.  “Come on,” her savior says, hustling Darcy to a door set in the tiled wall and guiding her inside.  It’s a storage closet, filled with cleaning supplies and chemicals and smelling like it does too, but there’s a drop in volume compared to the chaos outside, and Darcy feels like she can breathe again.  She’s not the only person in the little room, a couple of teenagers who looked all too young to be out on their own and a woman holding a baby close to her chest, rocking the infant back and forth trying to keep it as calm and quiet as possible.  Another MTA employee in a fluorescent vest paces back and forth along the far wall, murmuring words into an old fashioned walkie talkie.  Darcy thinks she should pay attention to what he’s saying, but her body’s starting to hurt and that dingy floor is looking like an awfully good space to sit for the moment.  So she slides down the wall next to the mother, closing her eyes just for a moment.

 

“Here.  Looks like you need this.”  Darcy opens her eyes to see one of the teenagers holding out a pack of tissues and a bottle of water to her, the tissues looking blindingly white in her dark hand.

 

“Thanks.”  Darcy takes them, pours out a little water onto a tissue, and dabs it in the vague direction of the cut on her forehead.  She knows she’s hit the right spot when it stings her, and she hisses through her teeth.  Her head hurts, for sure, but not that badly, so she hopes like hell she doesn’t have a concussion.  Of course, if she gets gutted by aliens then a concussion is the least of her problems.  ‘Fucking Loki,’ she thinks.  ‘This is that rotten bastard’s fault.’

 

A small noise from the teenager who handed her the tissues brings her attention back over.  “What’s going on out there?” she asks, twisting her hands in front of her.

 

Darcy snorts, holding the tissue to her bleeding forehead once more.  “I’m not sure, but I think we’re getting attacked by aliens.”

 

The teenagers share a worried look, then pull out cell phones, searching for the nearest wi-fi signal.  It’s not a bad idea, Darcy thinks, and she pulls out her own phone and charger.  The phone signal is bad though, and there’s only a handful of wi-fi hotspots that she’s got no luck connecting to.  Any attempts to send a text message to her parents fall flat, and she wonders if the aliens outside managed to knock out the cell towers too.

 

She hopes that Steve is all right.  He’s right out there, in the middle of the mess - he’s got to be, he wouldn’t be anywhere else, she knows - and he’ll stay there until it’s all over.  All that Darcy can really do now is wait.

 

\----------

 

The battle rages on.  Darcy and her little group stay huddled and almost silent in the storage closet.  The MTA guy stands with his back to the door, repeating the updates to them that keep coming through over his walkie-talkie.  The ceiling shakes constantly, dirt and dried tile grout raining down on them.  There’s a small part of Darcy that mourns the fact that she actually put on a decent outfit that morning to go to the agency, but that feeling is pushed out when she donates her cardigan so that it can be wrapped around the baby to keep him protected from whatever’s falling from the ceiling.

 

She tries to play a game on her phone, to fall into the monotonous patterns of shifting tiles and sliding cards.  But her hands shake, the tremors worse with every explosion coming from above.  The throbbing in her head and her back just won’t die down either.  No one’s got painkillers though, so she’s got to stick it out.

 

The MTA employee gasps harshly, drawing all eyes to him.  “What’s up?” someone asks.

 

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s about to say.  “Crazy son of a bitch Iron Man just flew a missile into right into that hole in the sky.”

 

“Who the hell sent a missile straight at New York?” Darcy asks.  Not even S.H.I.E.L.D. would be that drastic - would they?

 

“No idea.”  He listens hard, pressing the speaker directly up against his ear.  Darcy can’t make out what’s being said through the static, but what she does notice is that it’s suddenly very quiet up above, and the wall behind her is still and solid once more.

 

One of the teenagers notices too, and she looks up at the ceiling also.  “Is it over?” she asks in a small voice.

 

“It sounds like it,” Darcy says, staring up at the ceiling herself.  Then she looks over at the man by the door again.  

 

The man looks at his walkie-talkie warily, then over at the crowd.  “Apparently as soon as Iron Man put that missile in the hole whatever aliens were left behind dropped dead where they stood.”  He yanks open the door, and Darcy leans around him, trying to see what’s out there.  The only sounds that are apparent are the panicked noises of the people hunkered down in the subway station.

 

“Is it safe to go out there?” Darcy asks.  She doesn’t wait for his response, however.  Instead she slings her bag around her body and wriggles around him, heading back out into the corridor.  The first thing she notices is that the people look worn and dirty, a little bruised, but overall healthy.  The next thing she sees is that sunlight is streaming into the subway station, and the debris scattered over the tile floor.  The rubble is because of the now collapsed escalators and stairs, leaving a gaping wound that’s open to the sky.  

 

But the sky is clear, bright blue and peaceful, with no sign of the lizard alien creatures in sight.  Darcy sighs heavily, feeling the relief course through her aching body.

 

Not long after that the electrical power to that section of the station is shut off - there’s the fear that the wiring in the escalators is still live - and the cops and MTA workers begin helping people back up to the street.  The trains are shut down indefinitely, Darcy overhears someone say, and so they lay planks of wood over the rubble and start the evacuations.  Which means that the streets must be clear enough to at least let people through.  ‘How long will it take me to reach my bathtub?’ Darcy thinks, scratching at the dust in her hair and wincing when she hits the sore spot where she impacted with the subway floor earlier.  A sharp jab of pain lances through her head, and she takes a deep breath, trying to push the pain back once more.

 

Instead, she focuses on guiding people over to the rigged up stairway.  It’s the easiest way not to collapse in a crisis, Darcy knows from experience.  “New Mexico’s got nothing on this,” Darcy mutters under her breath, getting a suspect look from the older woman who she’s helping to regain her footing.  Her back’s getting into the pain game now too, and she winces every time she reaches up.

 

Someone must notice the pained look on her face, because Darcy finds herself the next person getting evacuated.  “Seriously, I’m fine; I can help out down here,” she insists, even as a heavy cable is looped around her waist.

 

“You’ve done plenty,” the EMT says, the young woman looking far more put together than Darcy feels at that moment.  “Now it’s your turn to let someone else take care of you and get that gash on your head checked out.”

 

“All right,” Darcy concedes.

 

Things get kind of blurry from there.  Darcy suspects it’s the adrenaline crash rather than a potential head injury, but she knows that’s something for the experts to determine.  She’s taken to a large triage center outside of Grand Central Terminal, to a part where there isn’t giant alien space whale guts splattered across it at least.  It’s really just a cordoned off area at this point, with portable gurneys and other medical equipment set up wherever there’s a clear bit of street.  She’s escorted to a folding chair and told to wait her turn to be examined.  

 

Apparently the cut’s not as bad as it looked at first glance, because she’s waiting there for a while.  At some point a volunteer from Stark Tower comes by with a handful of cookies and a bottle of juice.  It’s not much, but Darcy accepts it gratefully.  “Thanks,” she mumbles, cracking open the bottle and taking a careful sip.  It doesn’t hurt her stomach; in fact, it just makes her hungrier, so she digs into the cookies next.

 

Getting almost killed by aliens apparently works up an appetite.

 

Darcy pulls out her cellphone and checks just how much power is left in there.  To her relief, the battery’s still decently juiced up.  And if she knows her family and friends chances are very good that they’re in the middle of a state of panic at the moment.  So she pulls up a text message and punches everyone’s numbers in there - Mom, Dad, her siblings, her grandparents, Jane, Jess, Steve (who probably won’t even get the message if he’s still in the middle of S.H.I.E.L.D.-land, but she’s got to try anyway).  ‘In NYC but okay,’ she types out.  ‘Will call later, need 2 save battery. But I’m okay!’  She hopes like hell everyone else is fine too.

 

She’s chewing on another cookie when an EMT with a medical kit comes over to her chair and pauses, smiling down at her.  “Well I guess your appetite hasn’t been affected by the head injury,” he says, kneeling down in front of her and pulling a pen light out of his pocket.  

 

“It’s been a long day.  I’m kind of hungry,” Darcy says as the EMT shines the light in her eyes, flicking it about and telling her to follow the point.

 

“A healthy appetite is a good sign.”  He clicks the light off and reaches for her head next, tilting it carefully so he can get a good look at the cut on Darcy’s forehead.  “When did you hit your head?”

 

“Right when the battle started,” Darcy says.  “Got knocked down in the subway station trying to get away.”

 

“Did you lose consciousness?” he asks.  “Or experience any nausea afterwards?”

 

“No, and no.  I’m still hungry, actually.”

 

“Does anything else hurt?”

 

“My back and my right shoulder.”  She points at her forehead.  “I hit the ground kind of hard when that happened.”

 

The EMT nods, and motions at her to stand up.  He pushes her shirt up just enough to check out the sore spots, but is careful enough to make sure that nothing is exposed that shouldn’t be.  It’s a little thing, but Darcy appreciates the care right now.  He hits an especially sore spot in his exam, making Darcy hiss and arch away from him.  “You’ve got a bit of bruising, it looks like, but nothing more than that.”

 

“So I’ll live?” she asks, sitting back down in the chair.

 

“And thrive.”  The EMT kneels again, opening the medkit and taking out some butterfly bandages.  “So what I’m going to do is bandage up the cut, then give you some Tylenol for the bruising.  We’re also going to keep you here in triage for a little while to observe you, which is pretty standard when you’ve got a head injury.”

 

“Even a mild one?”  Because if she’s not all that badly busted up (the bruise is sore and ugly, a welt in lovely shades of purple and green, but it’s uglier than it feels), shouldn’t she vacate her seat for someone who needs it a little more?

 

“Even then.  We’re not going to take a chance.  But if everything looks good in a couple of hours, we’ll send you home then.  Besides, I don’t think the roads are clear anyway.”

 

Darcy sighs.  “So I’m stuck in the middle of alien guts.  Great.”

 

“It could always be worse,” the EMT says with a shrug.

 

“Really?”

 

It doesn’t take long to bandage the cut and for the EMT to move onto the next person.  Injured people are arriving in the triage area constantly, some a lot worse than others, and Darcy knows that she requires far less attention than many of the people there.  But they want to keep her there a bit longer, to make sure she’s not got any bleeding happening in places it shouldn’t, so she’s stuck for a while.  Someone brings over another folding chair for her to prop her feet up on, and it’s not long after that Darcy dozes off amidst all the craziness.

 

\----------

 

_Darcy ducks down behind the apple tree, hands over her head to try and keep whatever’s dive bombing them from getting tangled in her hair.  There’s a loud screech, and her hands dart to cover her ears instead.  “What the hell is going on?” she yelps, turning her eyes to Steve._

_He’s crouched down behind another tree a short distance away and dressed in that vibrant new uniform she saw him wearing on TV the other day (just last night?  It’s amazing how the world can change in less than twenty four hours).  A grimace crosses his face just as he leans out of the way of a rock that comes flying past him.  “I think this one’s my fault,” he says._

_She leans around the tree again, spotting rolling green hills and a fence made out of split logs.  Hovering over the hills like a swarm is a pack of screaming, angry creatures, lumbering to and fro on wings that don’t look anywhere near strong enough to support their bulky bodies.  The tails must act as ballast somehow, Darcy thinks.  “Flying monkeys?  REALLY?” she calls out._

_Steve winces again as he scrabbles around on the ground, picking up a fallen apple and hefting it in his hand.  “Blame Fury,” he says.  He leans around the tree and hurls the apple at the monkeys, sending them scattering out of the way of the projectile.  They scream their displeasure back at them with a chattering clamor of voices, black wings flapping heavily against the unnaturally blue sky.  Steve looks back over at her again, and tilts his head in the direction of her feet.  “You gonna click your heels and say there’s no place like home?”_

_Darcy looks down and spots a pair of gleaming silver heels on her feet - entirely impractical for running away, but they shine brightly in the sun, like liquid metal drenching her toes.  “I dunno, I think you’ve got the ruby slippers there,” she says, motioning to his red boots._

_“Both’ll work.”  Steve ducks out of the way of another rock and slumps down, back against the tree.  “You make it out of the battle okay?” he asks, suddenly serious in the middle of this absurd dream._

_“A couple of bumps and bruises, but I’m all right.  Rode out the worst of it in a storage closet in the subway.”  Darcy leans around her tree and throws another apple, which doesn’t go anywhere near as far as Steve’s.  It still annoys the monkeys though, which is the entire point.  “You?”_

_“Same.  Got a bit banged up by the aliens, but still standing.  Or sleeping, at least.  Stark dragged the team out for food, but I’m pretty sure I’m sleeping in my plate right now.”  Steve shrugs, like the statement that just came out of his mouth is casual and offhanded instead of one of the oddest things he’s ever uttered._

_“There’s a restaurant open right now?”_

_“There is when you’ve got Stark’s money.”_

_Darcy grins at him, feeling suddenly exhilarated than she has in a long time.  They’re both alive, the aliens are gone, and the connection is as strong as ever.  Oh yeah, things are good.  “Don’t you think you should go join them then?  Can’t have their Captain sleeping on the job.”  She stretches up and tosses another apple at the monkeys, smirking as they scatter once more._

 

Steve snaps awake at the sound of Stark’s sudden chuckle, eyes opening up to see a half-eaten plate of shawarma congealing on the table in front of him.  “Well look what the cat dragged in,” Tony says.  Steve turns and sees another metal suit coming through the doorway, similar to the Iron Man suit, though not quite as ostentatious.  The mask flips up to reveal a black man with a look that can only be described as slightly dumbfounded and more than a bit suspicious on his face.  “Rhodes!  Pull up a chair,” Tony directs.

 

“You know, when they said there was a situation in New York,” Rhodes says, crossing metal arms over his chest, “I wasn’t expecting there to be aliens.”

  
Steve knows the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions and comments are always welcome. And for more details, story babblings, inspirational pictures, and other random stuff, my tumblr is always open at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com. Thanks for reading!


	5. Run and Tell the Angels that Everything’s All Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet aftermath of the battle and a few happy reunions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at summaries, so let’s just say that this is the chapter where everyone checks in and heads home, leading to a reunion and something that I’m pretty sure we’ve all been waiting for Steve and Darcy to get to. There’s a slight bit of AU in this chapter, which you’ll probably pick up on if you recall a specific line in Thor: The Dark World. Not like the whole story isn’t AU anyway, but you know what I mean.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to the cheering crowd on the blog - you guys always have my back, as well as the infinite patience needed to put up with me when I start whining about how writing is hard. Thanks to Meri and Rainne for their always fabulous beta work, and to Appletiniandscotch for a hysterical manip that I’m still giggling about days later.

The sun’s setting by the time Darcy finally gets back to her apartment.  Once she was cleared to leave the triage area (complete with a lengthy list of directions she’s supposed to follow for the next few days to make sure her head’s okay) she’s shoved onto the flatbed of a transport truck with a bunch of other newly released patients.  Apparently the subway’s not running into Midtown at the moment, but there are enough people heading in the direction of Brooklyn that the National Guard thinks it’s a good idea to at least get them over the bridges, if not give them door to door service.  

 

Darcy doesn’t know any of this, however, as she gets off at the first stop right in front of the York Street subway station.  It’s not a long walk from there for her, and the Tylenol’s kicked in enough that the throbbing in her head’s died down.  There’s the faintest smell of smoke in the air as she walks, different from any of the truck or sewer smells that are usually around.  Through the gaps in the buildings as she walks she can see slivers of the riverfront and the skyline, dirty grey clouds smoky and heavy with dust rising above jagged buildings.  She can’t see any of the alien debris or damage from here, but the red and purple streaks of sunset going across the sky seem more weighty than usual.  Darcy sighs and continues on her way.  Thinking about everything now is a little too much for her.

 

She turns down the alleyway, boots scraping along the concrete and stone there.  It doesn’t take long for her to notice the figure perched on the small stoop outside her front door, a thin cigarette burning in its fingers, its curly blond head bowed over.  “Jess?” Darcy calls out.

 

Jess’s head jerks up at the sound, and her entire body sags with what can only be relief.  Then she pushes herself to her feet and runs full tilt over to Darcy, grabbing her in a tight hug.  Darcy leans into the embrace; it’s the first hug she’s had since this whole shitstorm kicked off and it’s just what she needs right about now.  “Oh thank god,” Jess says.  “I got the text message, but still.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Darcy says, resting her head on Jess’s shoulder.  “Everyone here okay?” she asks, even though she’s not sure she wants to know the answer if it’s bad.

 

“Everyone’s fine,” Jess replies, pulling away and scrubbing a hand across suspiciously watery looking eyes.  “I was the only one in Manhattan, and I was down in Battery Park.  As soon as the guys on set started getting wind of shit happening in Midtown, they packed us into cars and got us over the bridge.”  She sits back down on the stoop and pulls out another cigarette to replace the dropped one.  Darcy sits down next to her and steals one for herself, lighting it up quickly.  It’s not her usual vice (she far prefers coffee, but caffeine is the absolute last thing she needs right now, not as the adrenaline from earlier is finally fully out of her system), but it hasn’t exactly been a usual day.  “What happened to you?”

 

Darcy sighs, sucking on the cigarette and trying not to cough when the smoke hits her lungs.  Not her brightest idea, she thinks.  “Got stuck in the subway across the street from Grand Central.  Bashed my head on the floor there and spent the battle hiding out in a storage closet.  It really wasn’t very dignified, now that I think about it.”

 

Jess rolls the lighter in her free hand, watching it move across her palm.  It slides towards her fingers and she flicks it on and off quickly, the flame a sharp little point in the twilight.  “Screw dignity.  You’re alive, that’s what matters.”

 

“And I am incredibly grateful to be alive, you have no idea.”

 

“You see your life pass before your eyes at any time?”

 

Darcy snorts.  “Yeah, when I almost got trampled by people in the subway.  The aliens didn’t get me, I was done in by my fellow humans.”

 

“That explains the bump on your head,” Jess says, placing the cigarette to her lips once more and taking a long drag off of it.  “If there’s ever a day to fall off the wagon this is it.”  She exhales, sending smoke up into the darkening sky.  “Did you hear from Steve?  I swiped his number off of your text message to see if he was okay, but I never heard back.”

 

Storytime, Darcy thinks, wracking her brain to try and come up with something on the spot to explain Steve’s absence.  ‘He’s going to owe me big time for all of the covers I’m making up for him.’  At least she knows with full certainty that he’s all right - news reports coming out of Midtown and her own quick dreams are more than enough verification of that.  “Yeah, I was able to get through to him.  Army called him up for duty.  All hands on deck in a crisis, I guess.  The worst is over now anyway; it’s all clean-up at this point.”  Darcy takes another hit on her own cigarette in an attempt to keep her hands from shaking.  Even though she rationally knows that Steve’s okay and that all of the fighting’s over, there’s still that deep set worry that she’s not sure she’ll be able to shake any time soon.  

 

Jess flicks the lighter on and off again, staring hard at the leaping flame.  “Good.  I’m glad he’s okay.”  She chuckles to herself, shaking her head.  “And of course Flame Boy and his crew were in Australia and missed all of the action.”

 

“I’m not sure if I want to know why you know that.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Jess says with a smirk.  “It’s like a vacation when he’s out of town.  Of course I pay attention.”  She pushes herself to her feet and tosses the remains of her cigarette down the alley.  “Come on, let’s go brave the madhouse inside.”

 

“Okay, that doesn’t sound reassuring,” Darcy says, scrambling to her feet and following Jess into the stairwell.

 

“For some reason our apartment was chosen as the gathering point so everyone can gossip and watch the news.  And we’ve got another group up on the roof with binoculars and telescopes aimed at Midtown.”

 

“That’s because all of the people we know are weird and we’re the only ones who have cable.”

 

They open up the apartment door, and suddenly it’s like a wall of noise smacks Darcy right in the face.  There are people everywhere in the living room, and while it’s not packed to the brim, it’s a little too much for her already overloaded brain at the moment.  “Oh, crap,” she mutters under her breath, gripping her bag even closer.  The sounds of voices and blaring reports from the television push into her head and she winces, resisting the urge to bury her face in Jess’s shoulder yet again.  “You mind if I go be an anti-social bunny right now?” she asks, low enough that only Jess can hear her.

 

“Go for it.  I don’t think anyone here’s going to care, frankly.”

 

Darcy just nods and darts for her room, waving hi to Barrett as he rushes past her carrying a six-pack back to the crowd.  With a sigh of relief she unlocks the door and slips into the dark peacefulness of her bedroom.

 

Only it’s not peaceful, she realizes in less than a minute.  The cacophony from the other room filters in through the wall all too easily, thumps and muffled voices echoing through the small space.  There’s even noise coming from the direction of the skylight, which has got to be the crowd with the binoculars and telescopes.  Headphones won’t help either, Darcy knows.  It’s the kind of noise that she’ll feel in her bones, shaking her all the way down until she’s ready to hit something.

 

Okay, maybe she was a little more affected by being stuck in the middle of the battle, albeit in the subway closet, than she thought she was.

 

She tosses her keys onto the night table, and they land with a loud, metallic clatter.  But this time, the noise gives her an idea.  She’d added Steve’s apartment key to the ring with the rest of hers.  And if there’s one place she knows is going to be empty and quiet, at least for the next few hours, it’d be his place.  Instead of thinking about it too deeply, Darcy pulls out a backpack and begins tossing some stuff in there: pajamas, toiletries, a change of clothes, her laptop, and the comfiest socks in her stash.

 

It only takes her a couple of minutes to pack up everything she needs.  The desire for some peace and quiet is strong, and it’s probably what’s making her work as fast as she can.  Darcy shoulders the backpack and heads back out into the hall, locking the door to her bedroom behind her (she trusts her roommates just fine, it’s the rest of the people who are currently occupying the apartment that would totally end up on her bed and probably puking up half of the beer they drank all over the floor).  By the apartment door she runs into Jess, who’s walking past carrying a bunch of blankets in her arms.  “I can’t take the noise,” Darcy blurts out.  It’s easier for her to spill all of it out at once anyway, instead of wavering about.  “Steve gave me a set of keys to his place, so I’m going to crash over there for the night...maybe tomorrow too, if all of these guys are still here.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Jess says, nodding.  “I think you need it after the day you’ve had.  Do you need food?” she asks, angling her head towards the kitchen.

 

“I’m not really hungry,” Darcy says, just as her stomach growls at the sound of a potential meal.  “Maybe some food wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

 

“Come on.”  Jess tosses the blankets in the direction of the couch as they pass the living room on their way to the kitchen.  Once there, she pulls together a bunch of nibbles and snack stuff, shoves it all into a plastic bag, and hands it over to Darcy with a flourish.  “I think we’ve got a bottle of wine you can take with you too.”

 

Darcy shakes her head.  “No thanks.  Can’t with the bump on the head, anyway.”  She pauses briefly, remembering what the EMT had told her.  “Speaking of which, would you mind calling me in a few hours, just to check up?  I’m technically not supposed to be on my own at the moment because of my head, but staying here is going to make me even crazier.”

 

“Of course I will.  Even at three in the morning, if I have to.”

 

“Make it five instead and you’ve got a deal.”

 

Jess grins, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Sounds good.  Now go get some rest.”

 

“Yes, Mom.”

 

A few minutes later, Darcy finds herself closing the door to Steve’s blessedly quiet apartment.  She leans back against the door with a heavy sigh, more of that exhaustion sweeping through her body.  “This is a bad place to sleep,” she mutters, pushing off of the door.  The food is dropped in the kitchen and the rest of her stuff in a pile on the bedroom floor.  For a moment Darcy’s worried that she’s invading Steve’s privacy by crashing in his bedroom without warning, but a quick glance tells her that the bedroom is awfully sparse.  Bed and night table, armchair in the corner, closed closet door, a mostly empty bookshelf, and a low slung chest of drawers.  The plain, bare walls are painted in apartment standard off white.  All in all it’s not exactly the most welcoming looking of places, and Darcy can’t help but wonder what exactly S.H.I.E.L.D was thinking by putting Steve in such a sterile place.

 

The bed, however, looks inviting.  She’s not sure if it’s the exhaustion she’s feeling or the thick navy blue comforter on the bed that’s just slightly rumpled up, but she knows where she’s going to be spending the night.

 

First things first though, she thinks ruefully as she plucks at her shirt, grimy and dirty from the day’s adventure.  Shower.  Now.

 

\----------

 

Only once Darcy’s washed up, all of the dirt and other crap picked up throughout the day washed down the drain with the soap, and dressed in the most comfortable loose sleep shirt and shorts that she owns, does she allow herself to curl up in the big bed, bundled up comfortably under the blankets.  And while her body’s exhausted, the shower must have invigorated her mind, so she gets out her laptop and pulls up some news reports about what just happened.

 

Yeah, she saw the attack from the insider’s perspective, but there’s plenty more that happened that she didn’t catch.  All the news websites have articles and videos analyzing every single action and movement throughout the battle, asking such hard hitting questions as ‘Why New York?’ ‘Where were these aliens from?’ and, most importantly to Darcy at least, ‘Who was Tony Stark fighting with?  We recognize the Hulk (and are a bit surprised he’s actually defending us), but who are the rest of them?’  ‘Is that the same so-called ‘Captain America’ from the attack in Stuttgart last night?’

 

She stays away from the more conspiracy oriented websites.  Speculation and rumor is the last thing she needs right now, especially when the bulk of it centers around Thor and Steve.  But they’re all okay, and the Earth is safe for the moment.

 

Her thoughts don’t get to go further than that when Darcy’s interrupted by her phone.  She’s already spoken to her parents, and it’s far too early for Jess to call to check in on her, so who the hell is calling?  When she reads the screen, she’s a bit surprised to see Jane’s name come up, but then revises that just as she sees Thor’s cape flutter past on the latest news report.  “Jane!” she says, putting on a chipper voice that is so not how she feels at the moment.  “What’s up?”

 

“Oh my god, Darcy, are you all right?  What is going on over there anyway?  I’ve got the news on, and I think Thor’s there too, but I don’t know.  And I tried to ask the guys I’m working with here, who I think are S.H.I.E.L.D., by the way, but they’re not helpful at all.  That’s probably why they’re not helpful,” Jane blurts out all at once.

 

“Jane, slow down and breathe,” Darcy says.  She glances over at the small clock on the night table and frowns.  “What time is it there anyway and why are you still awake?”

 

“Too late to be awake, but I’ve had one too many coffees and I’ve got the news on.  It’s not exactly good for sleeping.”

 

“Well, no shit.  You should probably go and get some sleep before you crash where you’re standing.”

 

Jane sighs heavily, loud enough that Darcy can clearly make it out even an ocean away.  “I know.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

 

Darcy smiles and curls up in the blankets.  “I’m fine.  A few bumps and bruises because I got stuck in the subway, but I’m already at home and in bed with my faithful laptop.”

 

“Good.”  Jane yawns right in Darcy’s ear.  “Ooh, sorry.  I think the day’s catching up with me.”

 

“Go to sleep,” Darcy admonishes her.  “Believe me, I’ll be right behind you.”

 

“Maybe for a few hours,” Jane says.  “Then I’ll go pester the S.H.I.E.L.D. guys to see if they can tell me anything else about Thor.”

 

“Excellent plan.  Now go sleep.  Good night, Jane.”

 

“Night, Darcy.”

 

She puts the phone carefully on the night table and pulls the covers up even more tightly around her.  Her stomach’s demanding to be fed, it feels like, but her body is demanding sleep.  Darcy decides to follow her body instead, and in a matter of moments she’s sound asleep, face buried in a pillow that smells of the faint hints of aftershave that she knows Steve always wears.  

 

\----------

 

For the second time in as many nights, the obnoxious ringtone coming from her phone jerks Darcy out of sleep.  “Totally changing that tomorrow,” she mutters, burying her face in a pillow.  But a subtle scent coming from the unfamiliar pillow hits her nose and she jolts a bit, remembering where she is and what’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.  Her hand scrabbles out to grab the phone.  “Hello?”

 

“Hey, Darcy.”

 

“Oh my god, Steve.”  Darcy pushes herself upright in the bed, the sheets falling in a tangle around her waist.  “Are you okay?”  Dreams are well and good, but she won’t be satisfied until she hears the words directly from his mouth.

 

She hears him sigh over the phone, then a soft shuffling like he’s settling down against something.  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Steve says in a quiet voice.   
  


“You sound exhausted,” Darcy says.

 

“I think that might be the understatement of the century.”  Steve huffs, and she hears the shifting noises again.  “I’m pretty sure my body is one giant bruise right now.”

 

She bites her lip, because Steve would hear it if she nervously clicked her nails on the phone case, wouldn’t he?  “But you’re healing up, right?”

 

“Yeah.  I need a shower more than anything else at this point.”  He pauses for a moment, the silence stretching long and peaceful between them.  “And you, you’re okay?  Did you make it out in time?”

 

Darcy settles back in the sheets again, letting her eyes close.  There’s still a bit of an ache in her head, but it’s more because of the bruise and the healing cut on her forehead than anything else.  “I got stuck in the subway and a bump on the head for my troubles, but otherwise I’m doing fine.”  She sighs, rolling her head on the pillows she’s mounded up behind her.  “Fair warning though, I’m crashing at your place for the night.  Too much noise happening at mine right now.”

 

“Stay as long as you like,” Steve says.

 

“Did you get Loki?” Darcy asks, opening her eyes to see the golden orange play of street lights on the ceiling of Steve’s bedroom.  There’s the faintest of noises she can make out from the road below, of cars passing by and the occasional horn going off, and it’s kind of reassuring.  Like even when things are going so far beyond the boundaries of reality there are still some things that will always happen in Brooklyn.

 

“Locked up behind a steel door with Thor’s hammer on his chest,” Steve says, and for the first time all night Darcy can hear the slightest bit of a smile in his voice.  

 

But then her mind snaps to attention, a sudden thought striking her.  “Hey, you got a pen nearby?” she asks.

 

\----------

 

Stark Mansion - well, one of the mansions in Howard Stark’s collection, as Steve finds out - is right across the street from Central Park.  Not that that means much, as Central Park is still as big as it was back in the 40s, but it’s away from ground zero.  Stark’s tower is too damaged for them to hole up there, so he’d brought all of them, Loki included, to his dad’s old residence there for when he decided to spend time in Manhattan.  Of course, residence is a mild word to describe the place.  Six floors plus a basement, garden and courtyard, indoor pool, and enough bedrooms and bathrooms that it would take all of Steve’s hands and feet to tally them up.  A building like this in the neighborhood he’d lived in back in the day would have fit over a hundred people in there.

 

Tonight, however, it holds the six of them plus the madman locked in the bomb shelter in the sub-basement with Mjolnir sitting on his chest to keep him exactly where he should be.  Loki’s probably asleep though, which is what Steve should be doing, now that he thinks about it.  Instead he’s hovering outside of the bathroom where Thor’s currently showering like a creeper, waiting for him to finish up so he can pass along the message Darcy had given him.  

 

It’s another five or so minutes before the shower turns off, and Steve straightens up from his slouch against the wall.  A couple of minutes after that Thor emerges from the bathroom, naked save for the thick towel wrapped around his waist.  “Captain,” he says, spotting Steve outside.  “How can I help you?”  He drapes another towel over his shoulders, scrubbing some water from his hair.

 

Steve’s no slouch in the physical department, Dr. Erskine’s serum helped with that, but even he feels inadequate in the presence of Thor’s body.  Still, that’s the last thing he should be worrying about right now.  “I, uh,” he begins, then clears his throat.  “Don’t ask where I got this.”

 

“All right.”  Thor moves closer, bare feet leaving the slightest damp footprints on the richly patterned carpet that lines the hallway.  “What troubles you, Steven?”

 

Steve holds out the scrap of paper he’s been clutching in his hand since he spoke to Darcy.  It’s a little crunched up by now, though the writing on there is still crystal clear.  “This is Jane Foster’s phone number.  If you want to go ahead and give her a call.  I think she’d like to hear from you.”

 

Thor looks...surprised, to say the least.  But grateful, that’s not in doubt.  He nods once, and plucks the little paper out of Steve’s fingers.  “Thank you,” he says.  “Where…”  Thor cuts himself off, and nods again.  “I will not ask you where you got this.”

 

“I appreciate it,” Steve says, smiling carefully.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for me to get changed out of this uniform.”  He grimaces and looks down at the large rip in the side of his uniform, spattered with blood and dust and grime with a hint of pink, healing skin peeking through.  

 

“Stark’s showers are quite luxurious,” Thor says.  “I’ve no doubt he would be disappointed if you didn’t take advantage of them.  The waterfall showerhead in this one is quite intriguing.”

 

“You know, you’re probably right.”  Steve sighs and runs a hand back through his hair, feeling the lingering dirt on the strands.  “Call Jane,” he says again, nodding at the paper.

 

“I will,” Thor replies.

 

\----------

 

After the phone call from Steve, Darcy doesn’t really fall back asleep.  Her brain’s too busy reliving everything she’d seen and heard throughout the day, and what she imagines that Steve had been through, which was miles worse than her.  She tosses and turns in Steve’s sheets as sleep doesn’t come.  Eventually she turns the laptop back on to find something stupid and humorous to watch, anything that will keep her brain occupied and distracted.

 

The noise from the shows she’s turned on plays out in her ears, soft murmurs that all blend into each other after a while.  She drifts in and out, images blurring and forming behind eyes that fall shut every so often.  Time passes in odd increments.  Sometimes she blinks, and forty-five minutes have passed.  Other times she’d swear that it takes a year for the readout on the laptop to click over to the next minute.  It’s not until dawn that Darcy finally falls into a somewhat deep sleep, the images stopping and giving her brain a break.

 

Even that doesn’t last long.  Through the sleep haze she hears some clicks and shuffles in the background, but she can’t bring herself to be alarmed by them.  The world should be quiet this morning, Darcy thinks, too preoccupied with the sudden and undeniable arrival of aliens instead of thinking it’s a wise idea to break into Steve’s apartment.  She rolls onto her side, angling her head to where the noise is getting louder.  There’s a clattering of what sounds like keys on a table, followed by a gusty sigh.  She knows that sigh, knows the sound of it all too well, and allows herself to smile.

 

When Darcy peels her eyes open she sees Steve leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and looking down at her with what can only be described as fondness.  “Hi,” she says.  He looks good, freshly scrubbed in clothes that have a crisp newness about them. 

 

“Hi.”

 

“Did you save the world?” she asks, attempting to push herself up in the bed.  It’s a futile effort though, and she lounges back in the sheets.

 

Steve smiles, and nods.  “We did.  At least for today.  It may change tomorrow, but I know a couple of guys now.”  He pushes off the door frame and comes over to the bed, settling down on the edge by Darcy’s hip.  

 

That’s more than enough impetus to get Darcy upright, and she sits up then, letting the sheets fall around her waist.  She reaches out carefully and places her hands on his shoulders, feeling the muscles warm and firm under the fabric.  “Good.”

 

“Yeah.”  Steve’s hands fall to her hips, pulling her closer to him so that Darcy’s nearly perched on his lap.  She wraps her arms around him then, practically slumping against his chest.  Rationally, she knows that she’s been out of danger from the time she’d crawled her way out of the subway stop, constantly in the presence of people trying to help her, and then taking refuge in a quiet, secure place.  But here and now, with Steve holding onto her just as tightly as she’s holding onto him, Darcy finally feels like she can exhale that tense breath and be calm and at peace once more.  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve says quietly in her ear.

 

“Same here.  Some of the news reports had shots of you guys fighting.  It looked awful,” Darcy says, burying her face in his neck and inhaling the way his skin smells, clean and fresh.

 

Steve runs his hands up and down her back, keeping her close to him.  “It was ugly,” he says.  “It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

 

His voice is low and gruff, almost unpleasant with the weight of the memories, and Darcy is determined to make him focus on the positive.  Her hands slip down his sides, which then makes Steve hiss unexpectedly, and she pulls away quickly.  “You okay?” she asks.

 

One hand goes to cover hers where it still rests against his side, and he nods.  “Yeah, it’s just tender.  Took a hit from one of those alien weapons.  It’s healing up.”

 

Yes, she knows he’s not lying, but she also knows that Steve’s the type of guy that would call a missing limb a flesh wound, so to speak.  Darcy frowns and tugs his shirt out of his pants, pulling it up to reveal a livid bruise and a few scabbed over cuts.  “Just tender?” she echoes.  “It looks like you had a meat tenderizer taken to it.”

 

Steve takes her hand again, pulling it away and letting his shirt drop down once more.  “You should have seen it yesterday.”  

 

Darcy just looks at him, hoping that the skepticism is showing on her face.  She’s got the strong, strong feeling that he’s seriously underestimating the extent of his injuries for her, super-soldier or not.  Stubborn man.  So she raises her hand and kisses two of her fingers, lingering there so that she can feel the warmth of her lips there.  Then she drops her hand, pressing them lightly to Steve’s side, right by the edges of the injury  “It’s supposed to make it feel better,” she says quietly.

 

Then, Steve’s eyes go intense, suddenly dark even in the morning brightness of the bedroom.  He’s focused on her face, like he’s trying to memorize every single millimeter of it.  There’s a time and a place for words.  Darcy knows this from years of real life experience, when to talk, and when not to talk.  This time, right now here in this bed with this person just inches away from her?  This is a time for action instead of words.

 

Darcy leans in, her hands going around the back of his neck.  But before she can do anything else Steve dips forward, bringing his mouth to hers.  She tilts her head, parting her lips beneath his as a sudden exhalation of breath mingles with hers.  His hands drop down to her hips once more, pulling her further onto his lap just as his tongue glides along her lower lip, then darts inside.

 

God, is it worth it.  All of the years and weirdness that it took them to get to this point, building up to now, and going even further.  So very worth it.  She whimpers into Steve’s mouth, shivering as his hands dart under the edge of her t-shirt.  Returning the favor is all too easy, and Darcy slides her hands down his chest, pulling his shirt the rest of the way out of his pants.  Her fingers find the ridges of his abdomen, and she glides them over warm, firm skin.

 

Darcy likes to think that she could stay like this for hours, in this floaty place that’s filled with all good things, but it appears that the the sleepless night is finally catching up with her.  Her blood’s fizzing like champagne now that Steve’s back, safe and mostly unharmed, but her brain is insistently pointing out that it’s a good time to take a nap.  She pulls her mouth away from his and yawns, hand darting up to cover her mouth.  “Sorry, I didn’t sleep much.”

 

“Me either,” Steve says, blinking heavily as he strokes her upper back.  “None of us did, not really.  Not until we saw Thor and Loki off this morning.”

 

It’s almost a relief to see, now that she’s looking closer, that Steve looks tired too.  That she won’t be the only one in this room who needs a good night’s (day’s) sleep.  “Lie down with me?” she asks.

 

“Yeah.  That sounds good,” Steve nods, squeezing her hand tightly.  He shifts on the bed slightly, bending down to unlace his boots.  Darcy attacks the buttons on his shirt, peeling it back until only the white undershirt is left.  He steals another kiss from her before he stands up to strip off the khakis, tossing them onto the armchair in the corner.  The pants are traded for a pair of pajama pants, giving Darcy a tantalizing and all too brief view of his boxers.  

  
Finally they’re curled up in the bed, legs woven together and Steve’s head resting on her shoulder.  Darcy lightly drags her fingertips over his upper arm, just as his hand tangles in her long hair.  They fall asleep like that, quiet and dreamless and infinitely deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, yes, Thor does call Jane that night before he goes back to Asgard. Maybe I’ll write the scene out someday.
> 
> Next chapter? Well, that’s where this story will earn its mature rating. So stay tuned for more, and thanks for reading!


	6. All I Want Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Darcy finally do something they've been wanting to for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter? Well, it’s pretty much all about the sex. Not much more than that, and where the story really earns its ‘Mature’ rating. Steve and Darcy have been waiting for this long enough in this world, I figured I’d indulge them.
> 
> This here is also the song - and the specific version of the song - which directly inspired this story. It’s also where the title came from, for both the story and this chapter. Because reasons. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kip6HM9AzGM
> 
> Thanks to my usual crew of people helping me out with the story and holding my hand as I cry into my wine about stupid characters who are being a pain in the ass to write. And from keeping me from having a total mental breakdown as I finish this little mini-epic. Meri, Rainne, Carrie, thank you very, very much. :)
> 
> All right, on with the show. Usually my notes are better, but as I’m typing these notes up half asleep in the rush to get this thing posted before my vacation tomorrow, coherency is not guaranteed. At least in the notes. The betas up above made sure my story is nicely coherent. Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoy!

This time, Darcy wakes slowly, gently.  It’s that feeling of waking up relaxed, like every bone in her body is loose and warm, and her brain is calm for the first time in a long while.  She stretches out in the sheets, feeling the sun on her face.  The sleep of the dreamless, she thinks, flipping onto her side and gazing across the bed.

 

Steve is still out cold, breathing deep and steadily with his face half mushed into the pillow.  One arm’s curled under it, keeping it close to his face.  Darcy grins indulgently, resisting the urge to reach a hand out and stroke a finger down his cheek.  He looks younger this way, a little more innocent than he normally does when he’s awake.  And he definitely needs the sleep right now.

 

The grumbling noise coming from the direction of Darcy’s stomach tells her that she needs food.  She rolls her eyes, but as her body’s awake now it’s probably worthwhile to try and find something to feed herself with.  She rolls out of bed, grabbing her phone on the way, and pads back out towards the kitchen.  When she glances back at Steve, she smiles again at the way he’s still sound asleep, her movements not even making him twitch.  

 

‘He’ll be hungry when he wakes up,’ she thinks, poking her head into the fridge and trying to see what’s in there that could be turned into food.  While Darcy’s no gourmet she can put together a decent meal that doesn’t consist of ramen, which is a good skill to have - especially on a college kid’s budget.

 

Nothing’s coming to mind though, as Darcy stands there in front of the fridge with an arm braced on the door and the cold air blowing against her.  There’s breakfast like food in there, eggs and milk, with a loaf of bread on the counter, but her brain doesn’t seem to want to come up with anything that could be easily transformed into actual food.  She decides to blame the head injury for it, even though the worst of the pain is long past and it’s clear she’s not got a concussion by now. ‘It’s not too early for take-out, is it?’  

 

No, proper, home cooked food, she decides.  Besides, even in New York, a city used to weird shit happening to it, the take-out places may be taking a day off after aliens attack.  An omelet would be good.  It’s easy enough, and Steve probably needs the protein after the fight from yesterday, shawarma notwithstanding.  “Is this what people do after aliens attack?” she mumbles to herself.  “Try and figure out breakfast food?”

 

The eggs, milk, cheese, and butter come out of the fridge, lined up neatly on the counter.  Darcy starts up the coffee, because coffee makes everything better.  Bread goes in the toaster, and she begins to put together the egg mix for the omelet.  Once that’s in the pan she picks up her phone, checking to see if there’s any messages.  

 

There’s one from Jane saying, ‘ **Holy shit, Thor called.  He actually called!  Call me as soon as you’re awake.** ’  Darcy grins down at the phone, feeling warm and fuzzy at the thought that Thor had listened to her suggestion (using Steve as a messenger, of course).  The next one’s from Jess, saying to text her back or she’s going to think she’s in a coma and call 911.  Which makes Darcy roll her eyes and shoot her a quick text saying she’s awake and okay, and that chances are good there’s no concussion happening.  The last text is from her younger brother, stuck on a college campus halfway across the country, asking if she’d seen any aliens.

 

He can wait, Darcy thinks, tossing the phone back on the counter and testing out the omelet.  It’s not quite set, but it’s close, and she sprinkles cheese in the center, folding it in half afterwards.  While that cooks she pours herself a cup of coffee and slaps some butter on the toast.  The coffee’s good and strong, clearing some of the fuzz from her brain. She feels like she’s slept far more than necessary in the last day, but she supposes that’s what the body needs when it’s trying to heal up.

 

Darcy’s pulled out of her coffee cup by the sound of footsteps from the other room, followed a few moments later by Steve coming through the doorway.  He still looks half asleep; undershirt and boxers rumpled and hair hanging into his eyes.

 

‘Absolutely adorable,’ Darcy thinks, turning around and giving him a grin.  “Good morning...er, afternoon.  I think,” she says as he moves closer.

 

“Hi,” Steve says, nodding as he comes to a stop in the center of the kitchen, rubbing at the back of his neck.  “What are you doing?”

 

“Food.”  Darcy pokes at the omelet with a spatula, then flicks off the burner.  It’s as good as it’s going to get; if she cooks it any more they’re going to end up with charcoal.  “I was thinking we should probably eat.  I haven’t eaten since yesterday,” she says, shrugging.  It sounds inane, even to her ears, but they’re the only words that are coming to mind.

 

Dammit, she was hoping this wouldn’t be awkward.

 

“Good idea,” Steve says.  “The last thing I remember eating was that shawarma yesterday.”

 

Darcy gives him a look as he moves to the cabinets, pulling out plates and silverware.  “Really?” she asks.  “Stark couldn’t shell out for something a little better than street meat?”

 

“He did afterwards, I just don’t remember eating it.  What I do remember is practically falling asleep in the shawarma.”

 

Darcy really shouldn’t laugh at that.  She knows this.  But the snort escapes her anyway, and she smacks a hand over her mouth as Steve gives her an arch look.  It’s enough to break the tension between them, however, and it feels like a giddy little bubble has settled over them by the time they sit down to their meal.  “It’s not gourmet,” Darcy says, “but it’s not burned either so I consider that a victory.”

 

“It’s very good,” he says with a smile.

 

“How’s your side feeling?” Darcy asks after a few minutes of silent eating.

 

Steve stretches back, running a hand along his side.  It’s not meant to be suggestive, but Darcy feels her stomach swoop just a bit anyway.  That undershirt really doesn’t hide a damn thing.  “It’s mostly gone,” he says.

 

“Perks of being a super soldier?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

Darcy crunches on a piece of toast, trying to fill up the silence that’s descended once more.  “I feel like we should be talking about something really deep and pertinent,” Darcy blurts out.  “Isn’t that what people do after aliens attack?  Talk about how the world’s never ever going to be the same?”

 

Steve twirls his fork in his fingers, lips pursed in thought.  “I didn’t know there was a standard reaction for an alien invasion.”

 

“There is in the movies.”

 

He gives her another look, one where he’s obviously fighting back the smirk.  “I think you should consider your source there.”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

Steve just laughs at that one, making Darcy stand up with a mock huff and take her now empty plate to the sink.  Silly boy.  But it’s only a matter of seconds before she hears his chair push back, and his footsteps padding over right behind her.  Steve carefully slides his arms around her waist, pulling her back towards him with one hand as he puts his coffee mug on the counter with the other.  He’s hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s taking liberties or not, so she leans back fully against his chest, letting him know that this is perfectly all right by her.  “Is this what people usually do after aliens attack?” he asks in a quieter tone than before, one that sends a little shiver through her shoulders.

 

Darcy shakes her head, rolling it back and forth against his chest.  “I’m thinking there’s no such thing as usual in this case,” she says, turning to face him.  His hands land on her hips again and she leans in closer, looking up at him.  “Hi,” she says, when she’s close enough to see the individual eyelashes ringing pale eyes.

 

“I think you said that already.”

 

“Actually, you said that.  I said g--”  He cuts off her words by leaning down and kissing her softly.  Darcy moans quietly and her eyes fall shut, hands stroking up his biceps.  She likes the way his skin feels under her hands.  When his tongue darts into her mouth and brushes against hers she tastes the last bit of coffee he must have knocked back on his way to the sink.

 

“I should really brush my teeth,” Darcy mumbles, mouth pulling back the barest millimeter from Steve’s to speak.

 

Steve smirks, kissing the corner of her lips.  “You taste fine to me,” he says in a low voice, which pretty much reduces Darcy’s knees to jelly.  Her hands tighten on his arms and she drags her mouth back to his, letting her tongue pry his lips apart and glide inside.  His kisses are intimate, and warm, simmering through her body and making her sigh into his mouth.  They make her lean into his body, trying to get as close as possible.  The angle’s a little awkward, but when Steve trails his mouth down her neck the angle becomes irrelevant.

 

Besides, she’s got this glorious opportunity in front of her, and it would be remiss of her to waste it complaining about a crick in her neck that might never happen.  

 

Darcy tips her head back, arching against his mouth as he nibbles lightly at her collarbone.  Her hands trail up his arms once more, feeling the tiny hairs on his biceps on her fingertips.  The light touch makes him shiver, and it’s a marvel that she can feel it in her own hands.  She drags her fingers through his hair next, scraping her nails against his hairline.  It’s that move that pulls Steve upright again, staring down at her with wonderment in his eyes, like he didn’t quite believe she was real until now.  Darcy tightens her hand on his neck, pulling his mouth roughly against hers.

 

She falls back against the sink, with Steve following right after.  It’s all too easy to get swept up in the sensations then, the world going topsy-turvy with desire, so it’s the little things Darcy notices: the drag of calloused fingertips up and down her spine, the lingering coffee flavor on her tongue, the firm certainty of his lips against hers, the way she darts her tongue in and out of his mouth and tangles it with his. The rough feel of the breaths she’s dragging in through her nose, the soft, distinct smell of sleep warmed skin.  The growing hardness against her belly that she presses into when Steve’s hands skate up her sides once more.

 

She hears a scrabbling noise off to the side, but she can’t process it until Steve lifts her up by the hips, making her gasp into his mouth.  A couple of seconds later she feels him sit down on one of the kitchen chairs, draping her over his lap.  It’s easier this way; she doesn’t have to worry about her knees giving out on her, not when she’s being held so securely on his thighs.  She wriggles against him and dives back in for another kiss, liking the way he groans into her mouth.

 

Mmm, it’s a great way to start the day.  Especially when that thin undershirt of Steve’s barely covers up anything.  Darcy runs the edge of her fingernail around one of his stiffening nipples, and she can feel him gasp sharply into her mouth.  And if one little touch could elicit that sort of a reaction, what would a firmer grip get her?  So her hand drifts down, fingertips gliding over the hard ridge pushing up against his boxers.  Once more, the dreams have nothing on reality, because dreaming about having Steve’s dick inside of her doesn’t compare to this firm and warm flesh beneath her hands.

 

Steve gasps into her mouth again, but then pulls back, looking about as dazed as Darcy feels.  “Should we...we should slow down,” he says in between breaths.

 

“Why?” Darcy asks, her brain taking a few seconds to catch up with the rest of her body.

 

“We should probably take it easy,” Steve says, even though his hands are running up and down her back still, dipping under the waistband of her sleep shorts with every pass.

 

This time Darcy’s brain is a little clearer.  “Still why?” she asks, shrugging.  “We’re both adults, and we both want this.  And frankly, given how crazy this world is, I kind of don’t want to wait any longer.”  She leans in, allows herself the indulgence and nips at his lower lip quickly.  “I think...I think we’ve known this was coming for a long time, longer than we’d like to admit,” she says, her voice dropping to a hesitant whisper.  “But no more hiding.”

 

“No more hiding,” Steve echoes, running a hand back through her loose hair.  “And wide awake.”

 

“Wide awake,” Darcy says, the grin spreading across her face.  She leans in, kisses him quickly, and then scrambles off his lap.  “I’ll be back in two seconds - don’t start without me!”  Steve just laughs as she runs back into the bedroom, scrabbling around until she finds her purse.  She pulls out her wallet and roots through it until she finds one of the condoms stashed there - for just in case purposes, though she’d never quite envisioned needing them in this situation, not until recently.

 

She’s certainly not complaining about it.

 

Darcy all but runs back to the kitchen, where Steve’s still in the kitchen chair, hands gripping onto the seat and taking deep, measured breaths like he’s trying to keep himself in control.  She pauses for a moment to collect herself, to relish the sight in front of her.  But why waste time on watching when she can be an active participant?  Darcy heads over to the chair, watching as Steve’s eyes open and focus on her once more.  She smiles down at him and straddles his lap, tossing the condom on the table behind her.  “Now.  Where were we?”

 

Steve’s hands slide up her back again, rucking up her shirt in the process.  “Right about here, I think.”

 

“Mmm. Good idea.”  Darcy reaches down and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it on the floor.  She feels Steve take a deep breath under her, his hands running up her legs.  “All right, your turn,” she says, plucking at the straps of his undershirt.

 

The grin he gives her is more than a bit wicked, and he helps her work the shirt over his head.  It joins hers on the floor, and she drapes her arms over Steve’s shoulders.  “That better?”

 

“Very much,’’ she says, crawling her fingers up the muscles of his abdomen.  It feels like Darcy can’t quite get enough of touching him, that dream Steve didn’t feel anywhere near as warm and as solid as the man in front of her right now.  She wonders if Steve feels the same way, and suspects as much given how his own hands are cupping the sides of her breasts, rubbing blunt nails against the soft skin there.  She sighs, letting her head tip forward and capturing his mouth once more.

 

Steve’s tongue presses up against hers, darting in further and flicking against her teeth.  He’s skilled, Darcy thinks.  Or maybe, somehow, he just knows exactly what she likes.  That’s awfully fanciful of her, but it’s easier to believe in magic these days.  He does something with his tongue again, at the exact right time as his hands begin working her shorts down just a bit, and she gasps sharply into his mouth, and grinds her hips down against him once more.

 

Things move rather quickly from there.  They only pull apart to get rid of shorts and boxers, and to roll on the condom.  Steve holds her up as she climbs back onto him, bracing her in place.  “You ready?” he asks, sounding breathless even though they’ve barely begun.

 

“Always.”  With that Darcy sinks down on him, taking his cock deep inside of her with a shallow gasp.  He fills her up perfectly, and she’d swear she can feel every inch within her.  Steve’s hands work spasmodically on her hips, flexing and pressing but ultimately letting her guide where this goes. Because other than those minute movements he’s still beneath her.  “Huh,” Darcy mutters, mouthing at the curve of his jaw.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says along with a rough exhale.  He pulls her closer, and she relishes the way his chest feels against hers.  “This is not going to last as long as I’d like,” Steve mumbles, and Darcy bursts out with laughter.

 

“I know the feeling,” she says amidst the giggles.  He shifts beneath her, brushing against her swollen clit, and her giggles quickly turn into a moan.  She mouths at his neck as she raises and lowers her hips slowly, letting him drag and stroke against the walls of her pussy.  Her body takes over from there, meeting Steve thrust for thrust while her arms wrap around his shoulders and her lips latch onto his.  

 

Steve tilts her back and laps at her breasts, strong hands keeping her firmly in place, and oh, she likes that.  He nibbles carefully at one of her nipples, and she gasps sharply, hands shooting out to grip onto the edge of the table behind her.  “Is that good?” Steve asks, with the smuggest grin she’s ever seen on his face.

 

In retaliation Darcy just arches her eyebrows above her glasses and clenches the muscles of her cunt tight around him.  His jaw drops and a shudder races through his body, and she gives him the sunniest grin she can muster up.  Steve shakes his head and pulls her upright once more, slamming his mouth back to hers.  

 

The world goes blurry then, leaving Darcy unable to focus on anything aside from what they’re doing.  There’s the way she rakes her nails down his back, making him hiss and his cock drive even deeper into her.  The taste of his skin on her tongue, salty and damp.  The slide of his length inside her and the smack of their hips against each other as they move.

 

The orgasm comes on quickly, surprising her.  There’s a wave that goes up her spine and a tingling warmth that settles in her pelvis.  A good thrust from Steve catches her clit in just the right way and the warmth bursts forth sharply, flooding her system as she digs her nails into his biceps and lets loose with a high pitched gasp.  “Oh, god,” she whimpers as the aftershocks keep her limbs trembling.

 

Darcy pulls her head up, breaths still unsteady, and meets Steve’s slightly awestruck look.  He’s still hard inside her, and a light sheen of sweat is on his upper chest.  “Was that?” he starts to ask, and she just nods dazedly.

 

“Yeah.”  She pitches forward and catches his lips with hers, nibbling on the flushed pink skin of the lower one.  “Your turn,” she murmurs.

 

Steve nods, kissing her roughly and sending another aftershock down her spine.  He grabs onto her hips tightly and thrusts up into her, making her already sensitive skin spark even more.  It’s maybe only half a dozen more quick thrusts before he pulls Darcy down hard and his neck arches back, a groan slipping out through gritted teeth.  She can feel him pulse and twitch inside her, and she runs a hand up his heaving chest.  It settles on his face, running a thumb over the corner of his lips.

 

When his head tips up Darcy kisses him again, softer and sweeter than before. She can feel the sweat cooling on her skin, and she runs her hands back through his slightly damp hair.  “Hello,” he says, lips curving softly.

 

“Hi.”

 

They linger there for a few minutes, with just the gentlest of touches against the other’s skin to help them come down from the high.  Then, Steve lifts her up, placing her carefully on the bare kitchen table.  “I’ll be right back; gotta go clean up,” he says, kissing her lightly before heading off to dispose of the condom.

 

Darcy just nods and watches him as he walks out of the room.  It’s a truly glorious backside, she thinks with a giddy grin.  She sighs and lays back on the table, feeling a little too lethargic and relaxed to remain upright.  She rests her hands on her stomach and closes her eyes, lounging in the patches of sunlight coming through the blinds.

 

Between her legs it feels swollen and damp, achy in that just been fucked good sort of a way.  Without really thinking about it Darcy runs her hand down her stomach, weaving her fingers through the coarse hair.  With a couple of fingertips she lightly strokes her folds, just running them up and down and feeling the moistness there.  She’s still sensitive enough that even the light touch sends a tingle through her body.

 

Her hand is pulled away from her body, and she blinks her eyes open just in time to see Steve licking at her two fingers.  The whimper that slips out of Darcy’s mouth at the sight is almost entirely involuntary, just as a jolt of adrenaline races down her back.  He gives her a smirk, then leans over her on the table, kissing the hollow of her throat.  “I remember that dream you had,” he says, trailing kisses down between her breasts.  “Where you were on that couch, and that guy was between your legs.”  He flicks his tongue at the hollow of her navel, making her gasp.  His hands settle on her thighs, spreading them apart slowly.  “I was so envious,” he says into the soft skin below her belly.

 

Steve looks up, bright blue eyes latching onto hers with an unholy grin.  “My turn,” he says.

 

“Oh, god,” Darcy moans happily, slumping back on the table as Steve goes to work.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one chapter of the story ends, another begins, and Steve and Darcy realize that things are only going to get weirder from here. That may not be a bad thing, however.

“I think it’s bleeding.”

 

“Oh, stop it, you big baby.”

 

Steve’s fingers prod around his slightly swollen lower lip.  “I’m serious, you may have broken the skin,” he says, even though he’s smirking in her direction.  “Who knew you were such an enthusiastic kisser?”

 

Darcy rolls over in the bed, propping herself on his bare chest.  “Want me to kiss it better?”

 

“That’s how it got bit in the first place.”  Darcy just shakes her head and rests it on Steve’s chest.

 

The sun’s almost down by now, the glow of streetlamps taking over from sunlight.  At some point they had migrated from the kitchen to the bedroom - Darcy’s not exactly sure when that was, but, to be fair, she’d been distracted by far more enticing things at the time.  Now they’re just lying in the bed atop the covers, pleasantly sticky and just luxuriating in the sensation of being able to curl up naked next to each other.

 

That’s one of Darcy’s favorite parts of sex.  While the act itself is good, she loves the aftermath, the quiet moments when they can just be still, either dozing or chatting or laughing about something or another.  It hasn’t happened enough in her life, she thinks, but that just may change now.

 

She rolls her head on Steve’s chest, gazing out the small gap in the curtains.  Darcy loves the lightness of this moment, and she’d hate to bring it down in any way, but there’s a question nagging at the back of her brain.  They haven’t really had a chance to talk seriously yet, being distracted by other good things, and she knows, _she knows_ they need to discuss this.  “Hey, Steve?”

 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, trailing a hand through her hair.

 

“When you were fighting the aliens, did you have any weird dreams?” Darcy asks, leaning her chin on his chest so she can look directly at him.

 

She feels him shake his head.  “Didn’t even get a chance to sleep,” he says.  “Not really.  A couple of minutes here and there, if that.”  Steve props himself up on an elbow and looks down at her.  “Why?”  Darcy sighs and rolls off of him, staring up at the ceiling.  “Did you dream something strange?” Steve asks, flipping onto his side so he can watch her.

 

Darcy nods.  “Made the mistake of falling asleep on the train.  Barely five minutes, but it was enough to dream of you in a forest looking like a bomb hit it, in that bright, shiny new uniform of yours, and Thor was on one side, and on the other - “

 

“Iron Man,” Steve finishes, eyes growing suddenly sharp and serious.

 

“Yeah.”  Darcy flicks her eyes over to him briefly.  “So my head’s not just going crazy; that actually happened?”

 

“You wanna know how the crater happened?” Steve asks.  He trails a finger up the soft skin of Darcy’s stomach, drawing the line past her breasts to settle in the hollow of her throat.

 

“How?”

 

“Shield met hammer.”

 

That gets Darcy’s attention.  “Seriously?” she says, rolling back to face him.

 

“Yeah.  I went to block his blow, and boom.  Knocked me for a loop too.”

 

“Poor baby.”

 

“I’ll survive.  Any other strange - stranger than normal dreams?”  

 

Steve reaches out to her, but Darcy stops his hand with hers, giving him a wary look.  “At any point in the whole adventure, were you basically hanging off of the giant flying boat by what amounts to a single piece of rope?”

 

The wince isn’t obvious, but it’s there.  “Of all the things for you to see, it had to be that.”

 

“So that’s a yes, then?”

 

“I…”  Steve trails off, and Darcy thinks that it’s going to be nearly impossible for him to dig his way out of this one.  She fights back the smirk, something she only allows herself because she knows full well that he’s all right now.  His face falls into a pout, and Darcy can’t help but dart forward and give said pout a quick kiss.  “You’re so easy,” she says.  “I am a bit weirded out though, by what these new dreams could mean.  I mean, the dreams are strange enough as is.”

 

“But this one happened when one of us wasn’t asleep.”

 

“And in potentially mortal danger.  Don’t forget that part of it.”

 

“Did you feel off in the dream?  Or threatened somehow?” Steve asks, frowning slightly.

 

Darcy shakes her head and shuffles in closer to him, draping her arm over his waist.  She can’t get enough of touching him, it seems, not now that she’s finally got permission to do so.  “I felt like...like I was riding along in your head.  Weird as fuck, but not bad, if that makes sense.”

 

“Not really,” Steve says, lips quirking up into a slight smile.  “If it happens again, I’ll know what to keep an eye out for.”  He’s about to say something else, when there’s a sudden, ominous rumbling noise coming from his stomach.  “I should mention that I have a very high metabolism,” Steve says sheepishly, a light blush stealing over his cheeks.

 

Darcy snickers, burying her face in his chest.  “Well, we did just use up a lot of energy,” she says.  “Which is a very, very good sign.”  She groans and pushes herself upright, her muscles wanting to stay in bed and relax for the rest of the night with Steve by her side.  “Come on.  I’ve got a delivery app.”  Darcy all but rolls off the bed, and goes over to scoop up the shirt Steve had worn when he arrived that morning.  Yes, she has some of her own clothes in her backpack, but still.  She likes the little indulgence.  So she slides the shirt on over her shoulders and shoots him an impish look as she walks back out to where she thinks she left her phone.

 

When she finds her phone again, sitting on the kitchen counter where she’d placed it before they’d gotten swept up in the moment, there’s a text message there blinking away on the lock screen.  She opens the message to read it, and lets out a loud groan, feeling an embarrassed heat rise to her cheeks.   **FYI, your kitchen blinds are open - Jess.**

“What is it?” Steve asks, coming into the kitchen barely dressed in just a pair of boxer shorts.

 

“Our friends are assholes,” Darcy says with an overly bright grin that borders on slightly insane.  But if there’s ever a time to be bright and giddy and insane, it’s now.  Because for the first time in a long time, even in the middle of aliens and crazy roommates and crappy temp jobs, and all of the weird shit in between, Darcy feels like she’s right where she’s meant to be.  And having Steve by her side?  Well, that makes it all the better.  “Don’t worry about it.  So, food.  What are you in the mood for?”

  
Steve just grins in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride, what a ride. Thank you everybody for coming along with me on it, for all of your comments and thoughts. If you enjoyed the story, drop me a line and let me know!
> 
> The Dreamsverse isn’t over, not by far. The threads for the next story are here also, so you can probably get a good idea of where we’re headed. At some point, at least - I’ve got another Steve x Darcy story in the works that I need to finish up first before diving back into this universe. But I’ll be back, and sooner than you think. :) You can follow me here for the next story, or you can come haunt my blog at aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com for sneak previews, a bit of babble, and lots of ‘inspirational’ pictures.
> 
> Thanks for reading my lovelies!


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